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No. 2.] 


JUDGE’S NOVELS. 


[Price, 25 Cts. 


Published Quarterly. 


July, 1889. 


Subscription Price, 
$1.00 per annum. 


Entered at Post Office at New York as second-class matter. 


A 

Philosopher 

IN 

Love AND IN Uniform 


By tlie fliltliors of "Napoleon Smitli” 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

THE JUDGE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Judge Building, cor. Fifth Avenue and i6tii Street 


1889 






TZ b 
. A ] t I'P 


Copyrighted, 1889, by 


THE JUDGE PUBLISHING COMPANY 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 
AND IN UNIFORM. 


CHAPTER I. 

T T hung on a wooden peg over the table at which 
^ we sat. It was a common, shiny black cloth 
knapsack with leather straps, by which it could be 
borne upon the shoulders, riveted to it. It was of the 
sort issued to troops by the State instead of the 
General Government. That is, it was more neatly 
made, more showy and bright, and had neatly rolled 
straps on top, in which the blanket or overcoat could 
be carried as in a traveling-strap; and over and above 
the general smartness of the knapsack itself, it had 
nicely lettered upon it, in square white letters, '"'‘No. 
42 Cadogan, Co. AT, 35//? Reg. State Fo/s.** 

In my military career, how many thousands of such 
knapsacks I had seen brought from State capitals and 
as yet unsoiled by Southern mud, or rendered shape- 
less by long marches under drenched forest leaves 
and dripping skies. How many other thousands I 
had seen at Perryville, Stone River, arid Chicka- 
mauga, with the varnish and shine gone, and the 
straps cut by bullet or shrapnel, and the letters 


4 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


dimmed by the red clay of Kentucky or of Tennessee. 
I stopped for a moment, with knife and fork poised, 
and looked up at the shining knapsack. Then I 
looked across at the aged face of my host, and re- 
marked: 

You had a son in the Union Army.” 

“ I never had a son,” he said. 

‘‘ I beg pardon; but by the knapsack, and it seems 
to have all its contents intact, and the blanket yet 
rolled on top, I thought some relative had used it,” I 
said, in an apologetic tone. 

“ I know not what may be in it,” said the old man 
with a sigh. 

“ Know not what may be in it ?” I repeated after 
him. “ That is strange; how long has it been here ?” 

“Since the summer of 1863,” he said. “Read the 
name on it. My name is Mallon. When Cadogan 
died, he requested me to hang the knapsack up here 
and never open it.” 

“And it has hung right there since 1863!” I ejacu- 
lated. 

“And will hang right there, unopened and undis- 
turbed, as long as I live,” continued my host. 

I attempted to resume my meal, but my eyes in- 
voluntarily turned to the sagging knapsack and the 
neatly rolled blanket which yet retained the form 
which hands now seven years motionless in the grave 
had given it. At the lower corner might be seen a 
portion of the blue skirt of a dress-coat, while the 
centre protruded in square spots as shaped by books 
or portfolios. 

“Was he a stranger to you ?” I asked. 

“ I knew him only three months, while the Union 
troops were here at Triune, but I loved him as if he 


AJV£> IN UNIFORM, 


5 


had been my son,” said the old man, in a tremulous 
voice. 

The daughter of my host, who was the magnet that 
had drawn me to his house, arose at this moment and, 
with a murmured apology, left the table and the 
room. 

I felt that my inquisitiveness had become dis- 
agreeable to the old man and his daughter, and with 
a blush of regret I resumed my meal in silence. My 
host contemplated me silently a moment, and then 
said: 

“ There are many about here who will give you their 
version of the story; so it is better I should tell it you 
in my own way. It is somewhat strange' and sad, and 
concerns me closely. When you have satisfied your 
hunger, we will light our pipes and walk over the 
plantation, and I will tell you all I know of Cado- 
gan and his knapsack which has excited your 
curiosity. But understand me, Mr. Travis, I am not 
capable of telling you all the mysteries of this passing 
strange story, for I lack the education; I lack words 
and facility of expression to delineate mental phases 
which you should be cognizant of, to make the story 
comprehensible. If you yourself have read of the 
progress made in psychical research, you can mentally 
supply to the narrative what I fail in telling.” 

Hastily rising from the table, I followed Mr. Mallon 
out into the beautiful autumn sunshine of a Middle 
Tennessee afternoon. In no part of our country does 
the scenery and atmosphere so blend into perfection 
and so woo the senses as does the marvelous autumn- 
time on the high table-lands of this most favored spot. 
The rich, spongy sable soil, underlaid by limestone 
rock, forever free from malaria, and the springs of 


6 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


water trickling from rocky ledges; the swelling up- 
lands bathed in sunshine for unbroken weeks, or 
silvered by moon or starlight in the intervening 
nights, where forests murmur in untouched freedom 
— this is the Italy of America. 

“ This is his tomb.” 

The old man had stopped before a door of grated 
iron-work set into a framework of stone against a hill. 
Evidently it was a small cave, like many abounding 
in that region. Heavily padlocked and rusted, the 
door had long remained unopened. The old man 
stood before it with uncovered head. 

“ Is it a family vault ?” I asked. 

“ No, sir; no one is buried here but Cadogan and 
she,” he said. 

“ Cadogan and she ?” I repeated. “ Who is the — a 
— lady ?” 

That is the story,” said the old man. “ I am to 
tell you that. But now let us look back for a moment 
at the hills yonder. See that thread-like mark along 
the ridge ? Seven years ago it was a line of breast- 
works and swarming with blue-coated men. Do you 
see, yonder, some white boards in a row ? There are 
buried Confederate cavalry killed in a skirmish with 
Brownlow’s East Tennesseeans. That long, strag- 
gling street with scattering houses is the hamlet, or 
village, of Triune. Fix these localities in your mind, 
for here the events occurred which make up my 
story.” 

I looked across the valley toward the purple hills, 
and away northward where I knew Nashville, the 
capital, lay, and then looked into the seamed and 
careworn face of Mr. Mallon. My host was an erect, 
stalwart man of sixty years. His white hair hung 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


7 


down upon his shoulders, and he was clothed in the 
yellow jeans of the Tennessee farmer. Only a few 
years before, he would have been called one of that 
despised class — a poor white. But Tennessee was on 
that border-line where could be seen the arrogant 
slave-holder side by side with an independent labor- 
ing-man, or mechanic, who claimed as proud a 
position as the idle owner of servile help. Here, in 
Tennessee, the Northern wave of enterprise and labor 
spent itself in a frothing edge of tall yeomen who 
loved freedom; and here the encroaching Southern 
wave of idle opulence met and mingled with the new 
civilization, until Union Tennessee regiments faced 
on the field, Southern armies made up of Confederate 
Tennesseeans, and neighbors shot into neighbor’s 
breasts, and greeted foemen with familiar names as 
they sank in death. I had met Mr. Mallon as I fol- 
lowed the chain of the surveyor over his farm, and 
having sat at his table, had learned to esteem him. 
The oak forests were soon to thrill with the rattle and 
roar of railway trains. An era of enterprise was to fol- 
low the rude crash and rumble of war, and as an engi- 
neer, I had climbed over grass-grown fortifications and 
driven the grade-stakes beside many graves of the late 
war. But the magnet which exerted the greatest influ- 
ence upon me in the little village was the only daugh- 
ter of my host, Lucy Mallon. Myself a middle-aged 
man, there was something peculiarly attractive to me 
in her ripened beauty of twenty-seven years. Women 
arm themselves with charms as does the soldier with 
weapons. Unwise the footman who shall sneer at the 
sabre or carbine of the horseman. Foolish the artil- 
lerist in scarlet cord who shall jeer the yellow braid 
of the engineers. They are arms of one common ser- 


8 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


vice. The charms of women are as potent and diver- 
sified. There are eyes of jet, brows of black, and 
lithe forms which stir the blood with admiration. 
There are blonde curls, languishing eyes of azure, 
and slender forms that inspire love. There are 
slender forms, sylph-like and gliding, that entice and 
win with willowy motion. They are arms of the 
common service. Lucy Mallon instantly took posses- 
sion of strongly masculine hearts. What was her 
secret of power? You have seen the exuberant 
woman — tall, grand, very fair, and naturally easy and 
graceful, with that full, not fleshy form which undu- 
lates as it moves; with that complexion suggestive of 
warmth and softness, a cheek against which, with no 
impulse of passion, you would desire to lay your 
own; with that round, soft form suggestive of a gentle 
but strenuous embrace; purity gleaming from a large, 
clear blue eye, and unstudied and easy friendliness in 
the warm, soft clasp of a white, dimpled hand. Such 
a one shall calmly sway the rod over masculine 
hearts, and reign a queen among her followers down 
to gray hairs and age. 

Here, then, for a time, worshipping silently, I 
waited. Here I listened to the strange story which 
follows. Under the slowly fading leaves of that won- 
drous autumn during the long golden days, or even- 
ings beneath the bare beams of the broad, home-like 
room, I listened, I worshipped, I pondered, and heard 
the story of the knapsack. 


AATD IN UNIFORM. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SOLDIER. 

D OSECRANS had with the Western Army won the 
^ ^ victory of Stone River, and was now recruiting 
his shattered regiments and dismantled wagon-trains 
for an aggressive campaign into East Tennessee, as 
wonderful as Hannibal’s invasion of Italy. The 
Union forces, in pressing on southward, had Louis- 
ville, Ky., as their first depot of supplies and point of 
departure. The success of their arms had carried 
them across one State, and now Nashville, Tenn., was 
the new depot. To understand the value of General 
Rosecran’s movement in American history, you must 
understand that the next base below Nashville must 
be Chattanooga, and if the war should continue long 
enough, then another southward step would be to 
Atlanta, Ga,, and the inevitable march to the sea. In 
the sequence of events put the strategy of Rosecrans 
in its proper place in the above plan, and Stone River, 
Chickamauga, and Chattanooga shall be gems in the 
military crown of a much-underrated man. When 
future students shall con America’s military history 
and see an army of sixty thousand men, with their 
military supplies, their pontoons, and artillery, swarm- 
ing over the Cumberland Mountains into East Ten- 
nessee in the face of an alert foe, their inquiries will 
lead them to the name of Rosecrans. The true Nap- 
oleonic mind was here. The elan of the army was 
raised and inspired by the giving of ribbon-badges, 
and in every regiment was a select corps of trained 
marksmen. When the Fourteenth Corps stood with 


lO 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


the “ Rock of Chickamauga,” how many remembered 
the superior condition of the army which came from 
Rosecrans’s wonderful preparation for the dread day ? 
But generals were too often commanded by news- 
paper clamor, and what was called a defeat at Chick- 
amauga was found to be the initiative of certain vic- 
tory, two months later, at Chattanooga. 

In the early spring of ’63, the divisions of the 
Western Army were placed in camps of instruction" 
on the turnpike roads spreading, fan-like, out of the 
City of Nashville. Murfreesboro, Triune, Franklin, 
were the radiating camps which defended Nashville 
while the work of forming an invading army went 
on. The “pikes,” the great, wide, beautiful roads 
were called in the vernacular. The glory of Middle 
Tennessee, they were the arteries of trade before the 
coming of the railway. Along one of these broad, 
white highways moved a division of the army on a 
certain damp, foggy day in March, 1863. The drum- 
mers had their drums slung over their shoulders, and 
moved in a miserable muddy squad at the heads of 
the regiments. The most of them were mere boys, 
and the trousers issued to them by a paternal Govern- 
ment had been made for men. In an emergency of 
this kind, some rude tailor in the regiment had cut 
off the superfluous legs of the trousers, leaving the 
original delta of cloth a wide waste of blue above the 
abbreviated legs. Poor little fellows! the white mud 
of the worn pikes had spattered the outlandish gar- 
ments clear up to the border of the jacket. The 
regiments were slouching along at rout step, filling 
the wide pike, moving along the smooth ditches near 
the fences, and in some cases choosing the smooth 
greensward beyond the fences. Some of the men 


AJV£> IN UNIFORM. 


1 1 

were smoking Guns were carried at will — under the 
arm at reverse, across the shoulder hanging by the 
strap, over the shoulder at a hunter’s poise, or in the 
hand at a trail. These were old regiments. Two 
years of steady service had made them mere ma- 
chines. Some of these men had made history at Mill 
Springs, Perryville, Shiloh, Stone River. They had 
nothing to learn. They had diplomas of completed 
education in military affairs. The officer at the head 
of the column turns on his horse and makes a gesture 
with his hand. The squad of drummers falls into 
line, the drums strike against the left knee, and as 
the left foot strikes the ground, a dexterous touch of 
the sticks evokes a long roll, and then the steady 
cadence of marking time. As, in chemistry, a cloudy 
mass of liquid is precipitated and settles itself, leav- 
ing a crystal liquid, when a drop of some powerful 
acid is poured into it ; so, without a word, the files 
form, the guns are brought to a uniform slant, officers 
take their places beside their companies, the color- 
guard forms around the colors, and in one minute a 
disordered mass becomes a long, undulating serpent 
of blue, with serrated back of writhing steel. Now a 
mile of swaying men swing in cadence with the drums. 

Halt— front !" 

The drums cease, and the long line, in two ranks, 
stand side by side in the road. 

“ Four paces to the rear — march T 

The pike is empty, and now a rattling, rumbling, 
clattering sound approaches. It is a battery going to 
the front. Cannoneers cling to the iron guard-rails 
of the caissons, and postilions stand up in their stir- 
rups and lash the galloping horses. Whiz — they are 
gone ! Listen a moment, now, down the road. 


12 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Boom ! 

Aha ! an answer, too ; and now a shell bursts amid 
a cloud of dirt, just ahead there, and an ambulance, 
with yellow flag flying, hurries to the front. 

Boom — boom ! 

Two of our guns, that was. No answer. No in- 
fantry ordered up. What was it ? That is all the 
private soldier knows of a battle. Here and there a 
soldier, who is used to skirmishes and is impatient, 
has lighted his pipe and smokes leaning on his mus- 
ket. Bah, this is nothing ! The battery comes back 
with the cannoneers laughing on their perches, the 
postilions leaning forward stroking their sweating 
horses. One cannoneer has a handkerchief, stained 
with blood, tied across his forehead. He would not 
take a golden badge for that bloody rag. He is the 
honored man in McKinney’s First Ohio Light. 

“ What was it, boys ?” — from the infantry. 

“The Johnnies had a camp on the Harpeth River. 
Two guns. We run them out ■’ — from the wounded 
artillerist. 

“ Bully for you ! Where are they camping, ahead 
there ?” they asked. 

“Right by a little village. Triune they call it; 
almost in sight” — and the battery goes on. 

Rout step again. The regiments fall into an irreg- 
ular line, and move on according to their own sweet 
will. File left, and they turn into a noble open forest 
beside the pike. A broad valley all about them. In 
the distance a village. Arms are stacked and a per- 
manent camp laid out. Our story has to do with two 
of these soldiers. Cadogan, our hero, was a slender 
man, apparently between twenty and thirty years of 
age. The striking features about him w'ere his eyes 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


13 


and mustache. His eyes were of a dark, penetrating 
blue, and deeply sunken. His long, drooping mus- 
tache was jet black, and hung below his chin. The 
contrast of the eyes and mustache was startling. 
His face was pale, and had a studious expression. 
His shoulders had a student stoop. I may as well 
say here that no one ever knew his previous history. 
How came such men in the army ? Who will ever 
know? I once heard, at Fort Wallace, a Regular 
Army officer lamenting that he could secure no officer 
competent to get out an architect’s plan for a new 
stone fort. A private soldier stepped up, and asked 
for draughting-paper, a case of instruments, and a 
sketch of the desired building. It stands to-day a 
monument of his ability. He was a graduate of the 
best German universities, and was a private soldier in 
the cavalry. Cadogan was such a man. Who would 
he select for his bunk-mate ? We might rashly con- 
clude that he would find no congenial companion. 
What has been your own experience ? We admire in 
others traits which we do not possess. The antipodes 
balance the world. Slender, refined, exquisitely re- 
fined, he drifted into the loyal care and love of Sam 
Campbell. Sam was six feet two, according to his 
descriptive papers ; red hair and beard ; weight one 
hundred and eighty pounds. His uniform had to be 
let out, to fit his capacious form. He never read a 
book. He hated philosophy, but he loved Cadogan. 
Now he stood with his hands on his hips, and stared 
down angrily at Cadogan, who had lighted his pipe, 
pulled out a book, and was sitting on a stump read- 
ing. Then he said : 

‘‘ Say, Cadogan, are you going to help put up this 
tent, or not ?” 


14 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


The reader looked up pleasantly, fixed his calm 
eyes on Campbell, and said : 

‘‘What does it matter ?’" 

“ By thunder, old man, it matters a good deal. 
Are you going to sit there in the fog and frost and 
read all night ?” and Sam hitched up his voluminous 
trousers spasmodically. 

“ Tents, Sam, and camp-fires and rations, are only 
the accessories of life. They are not, and should not 
be, the chief end of man. This body is a tent ; so is 
the world, so is the universe. What, then, is real, 
Sam ? — mind, my boy, only mind. The crowd wears 
out its life fussing with the tent. The real man lives 
in thought, and he only exists,” and Cadogan leaned 
back and smoked contentedly. 

“ Cadogan,” said Sam, impressively, “ I really be- 
lieve, if it were not for me, you would roll up in a 
blanket and sleep beside that stump, and get up to- 
morrow morning with icicles on your mustache.” 

“ Sam, my noble Caliban, have I not done so a hun- 
dred times in the last year ? Famine affects me not. 
Heat and cold are indifferent to me. I live superior 
to this world. Man is a superior creation, and no 
law should control him. You know I believe this, 
Sam. This is not rant.” He arose and approached 
Sam excitedly. “ Have you ever seen a law before 
which I bowed ? I am not boasting, but did you ever 
see me fear ? Did cold or hunger ever make me 
suffer ?” 

“ No, by George! Cadogan, I never saw you back 
down or turn aside for anything. I wish you were 
more human, old man. I wish you cared more for 
common things and would come down out of the 
skies. You know I love you, but I dread that awful. 


AJVI) IN UNIFORM. 


15 


cold-blooded theosophy you study so much ; and 
mark me, Cadogan, what you think elevates you 
nearer to the secret laws of God, in my opinion, only 
draws you down nearer to earth. God never made 
man to be invulnerable to all common hurts and 
miseries. It is a dream, my boy. Your regimen of 
food, your study of mental phenomena, as you call 
them, all is a delusion. I am going to preach a little 
now. I love your superior mind, but you are morbid. 
Take this axiom, old chap: Man needed water, and 
God put it everywhere handy for him; man needed a 
religion, and it has been made just as simple and 
easy of access as water. Your dreams will ruin you, 
Cadogan.” 

As Sam talked, Cadogan looked calmly in his eyes 
and smiled. When he ceased to talk, a curious change 
took place. His eyes still fixed upon his slender com- 
panion, he drew slowly near until his great hands 
rested on Cadogan’s shoulders ; they slipped down 
and embraced the slender body, then Cadogan said: 

Put up the tent, my boy. I will go and get some 
wood for the evening meal. ” 

He turned to walk away when Sam called after him: 

“ Here comes the sergeant with our mail. We have 
had none before in a week.” 

Cadogan stopped, but did not turn back, and said : 

“ Where is that letter of mine from ?” 

‘‘Calcutta, India, and it is covered with strange 
postmarks and stamps. Is it a love-letter, Cadogan ?” 
asked Sam. 

“You may open it and read it,” said Cadogan, 
smilingly. 

“ May I ? Here goes, then. Well, Fm blamed if I 
think any one need steal your letters. It looks as if 


i6 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


it were written with the head of a shingle-nail,” said 
Sam. 

“ There are only three men besides myself in the 
United States who can read that letter. It is written 
in a language which has been dead four thousand 
years. Put it in your pocket until I come back, Sam,” 
and Cadogan walked slowly away. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE DREAMER. 


JANGLING of chains, a snorting of excited 



horses, a loud shouting, arrested the attention of 
Cadogan as he sauntered thoughtfully down the val- 
ley toward the highway. Pipe in mouth, he stopped 
in front of the battery of artillery connected with the 
brigade. As he stood there he saw a crowd of men 
fall back from the picket-rope, along which the horses 
of the battery were tied. 

“ Look out there, he is loose !” 

“ What is it ?” asked Cadogan. 

“ A horse has killed his groom, and strikes at every 
one who approaches him. The brigadier-general has 
ordered him shot, and one of the men has gone to get 
•a musket,” said a voluble little postilion, as he, ran 
back toward our hero. Cadogan sighed as he turned 
and walked toward the picket-rope. A wide circle 
of excited men had formed around the frenzied ani- 
mal. Some of the men were talking excitedly, some 
were calmly smoking, and all were watching the 
maddened steed with deep interest. He was the 
centre of the wondering group. He was a handsome 


AND IN UNIFORM, 


17 


bay, in fine condition, and he stood now with raised 
head and beautifully arched neck, while his hot breath 
came in swift puffs upon the March air. Cadogan 
read the story as easily as if it had been printed at 
large. A man was lying in front of the desperate 
horse, with a bruised and bleeding face. His hat was 
crushed beneath the horse’s stamping and uneasy 
feet, while close beside the picket-rope, where it had 
evidently fallen in the contest, lay one of those hick- 
ory sticks which are used in baling hay. Cadogan 
read the whole story at a glance — the abuse, the re- 
sentment, and finally the sudden and awful vengeance 
of the enraged animal. 

“ Here comes the general,” said the men, and they 
respectfully made room in the circle for the command- 
ing officer to enter and look on the strange scene. 

‘‘ Why does not some one pick up that man and 
care for him ?” the officer asked. 

“ That hoss will kill any man that comes near him,” 
said the little postilion. 

“ Well,” said the general, “I have a man here with 
a musket, and he will shoot the horse ; but it is too 
bad — he is a noble beast.” 

Cadogan approached with a salute, saying : 

‘‘ General, I will go and bring away the wounded 
man, and put the halter again on the maddened 
horse.” 

The thoughtful eye, the white, careworn face, and 
drooping mustache struck the attention of the general 
instantly, and he said, kindly : “ Who are you ?” 

“ Cadogan, Company H, Thirty-fifth, sir,” he 
answered. 

Do you know something of horses the general 
asked. 


1 8 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

“ I know something of all God’s creatures which 
live and suffer,” said the soldier. 

“ Let me see you approach the horse, but be sure 
you understand yourself,” said the general. 

The assembled crowd, which had anticipated the 
brutal sight of the shooting of the beautiful but 
crazed animal, were astonished and breathless when 
they saw a slender young man enter the ring, un- 
armed, and resolutely approach the horse. The eyes 
of the steed blazed anew, and some thought the mane 
erected itself with excess of anger as he contemplated 
the approach of another enemy. The soldier ap- 
proached to within a rod of the maddened beast, then 
he stopped, folded his arms, and commenced an al- 
most inaudible, weird, crooning song. The horse 
reared on his hind feet, and came toward the slender 
antagonist with head high in air, then dropped down 
so suddenly that the iron-bound hoofs of his fore feet 
cut the turf within a few feet of Cadogan. Unceas- 
ingly the crooning song went on. The horse grew 
moody and sad, and moved in a circle around the 
singer. The sounds grew softer and softer, and the 
singer moved slowly toward the broken halter and the 
picket-rope. The horse followed. Then, with bowed 
head, the singer stood a moment, and the horse came 
to his place and the halter was adjusted. But now 
the halter is untied and tossed loosely on the back of 
the steed, while the soldier walks away toward the 
general, with the horse following, like a spaniel, at his 
heels. 

“ He is a good horse, general ; you will not shoot 
him ?” said Cadogan. 

The general made no answer, but stood silently con- 
templating the soldier. At last he said : 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


19 


“ Come to my tent at three o’clock this afternoon ; 
I wish to talk with you,” and then he turned and 
walked away. 

Say, young man,” said the captain commanding 
the battery, “ I will give you a hundred dollars if you 
will tell me how to do that trick.” 

“ Captain,” said Cadogan, respectfully, “ I could 
not tell you for a million dollars. It has taken me a 
life-time to learn it. It is no trick ; it is power. I 
will give you a hint, though. Have you not heard 
men say of an intelligent horse, ‘ he understands talk? 
Well, you demand more of the horse than you can ac- 
cord to him in return. You ask him to learn your 
language, while you cannot understand the language 
of your horse. Study on this, and you will be on the 
road to the control of dumb servants who yet have a 
language. This horse had been abused by a drunken 
groom. He is the most intelligent horse in the bat- 
tery. The groom, yonder, who struck the horse un- 
justly, is not dead ; he is in a drunken stupor,” and 
relighting his pipe, Cadogan resumed his walk. 

When at three o clock Cadogan entered, cap in 
hand, the tent of the general, he found him sitting at 
his desk, gazing abstractedly at a small piece of paper 
lying before him. He looked up and said : “ With a 
guard before my tent-door, it would be childish for 
me to ask if you had been in here before to-day.” 

“ Yes, general,” said Cadogan; “and for a man 
who had been a student of the unseen forces of na- 
ture, it would be more than childish to look for 
trickery among the Brothers.” 

The general looked down at the paper before him 
a moment, and then handed it to Cadogan. In a 
hurried hand was written on it ; 


20 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


“ I will be there at the hour. Cadogan’' 

“ That I have found among my troops an adept, is 
to me a marvel and a pleasure,” said the general, in a 
slow, respectful tone; “and to find that you have dis- 
covered in me a devotee of the occult is wonderful, as 
I supposed not a person in the United States knew of 
my studies, commenced late in life. To-day, when I 
saw your marvelous control of a brute, I knew I was 
in the presence of one who, though a private among 
my troops, was in reality a master of men. Though 
young, you have traveled far in advance of older 
students.” 

“ I have paid the price,” said our hero, with a sigh. 

“ I,” said the general, “have been, like tardy school- 
boys, laggard on the road of knowledge. I have 
toyed with wisdom until it found me too shallow and 
superficial to become its confidant, while you have 
gone on devoting all to her love, and she has become 
your mistress and friend.” 

“ I have paid the price,” Cadogan said again. 

“ What is the price ?” said the general, with asperity. 

“ The curbing of the appetites until nature, cowed 
down, a slave, grovels at the feet of will. Hunger is 
forgotten, while the flesh is radiant with the aureole 
of spirit-fires within. Sleep is forgotten, while the 
couch of leaves in the forest suggests no torpor, 
while the eager ear gathers the notes of night-birds 
until the master spirit woos the owl to a perch upon 
the outstretched hand, and the whip-poor-will trills 
its cry into my ear from its resting-place on my 
shoulder. The secret of the massing of the locusts is 
learned, and they cover me as a shroud. I become a 
brother to the rugged felines of the jungle, and their 
cubs disport about my feet. I am, again, the primi- 


( AND IN UNIFORM. 2i 

tive Adam of allegory, and the inferior creations of 
God lick my hand and take their names from me. In 
the nineteenth Christian century, by cleansing and 
abstinence, man is again a little lower only than the 
angels of God. I have paid the price,” said Cadogan, 
again. 

“ And it is not a dream, ” said the general, softly. 

“ If it be a dream that a palace lies beyond, when a 
beggar touches the heavy doors of a king’s home, 
then it is a dream that man enjoys when he becomes 
a ruler of nature’s forces, that beyond lies immortality 
and eternal peace. It is no dream, general. The eye 
which faints and wearies at the dim haze of distance 
should reach the stars. The ear which strains to 
catch distant music should hear the waters lap against 
the reeds of Ceylon, and the hand which transcribes 
a thought at arm’s length should spell its meaning on 
snowy sheets a thousand miles away. Man should be 
again like his Maker. Even death and life should be 
the slaves of imperial man. The heart should beat at 
man’s behest, or slow its currents down to sluggish 
tides through waiting years. The soul should come 
forth from the chrysalis body and soar away on glad 
errands, and come back unwearied to its home again. 
I see you grow pale. I run on too rapidly for the 
slow feet of the neophyte. Ah, you call me young, 
but how know you my age ? How can you tell if I 
have not sat in councils of kings before the Pyramids 
were built ? Life goes on in stages. I may have 
lurked beside the street when Coriolanus coveted an 
offered crown. I may have heard Hannibal exhort his 
troops in Italy, and yet I am now a common soldier 
in a republican army. Do I move too fast for you, 
general ?” 


22 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


“ No,” said the general, “ I have dreamed all this ; 
and yet, Cadogan, I am fearful at times that our 
teachings are but dreams, and that the simple faith of 
the Nazarene were best. Ah, if these mighty powers, 
vouchsafed to the adept in occult lore, be but com- 
mon manifestations of an unrevealed natural law and 
have naught to do with the immortal soul ! I will be 
your pupil, Cadogan. You are my master, but beware 
lest it all be a dream.” 

A look of pain crossed Cadogan’s face, and then he 
turned his eyes fixedly on the roof of the tent. Pres- 
ently he smiled, and there dropped from the roof of 
the tent a rose dripping with dew. The general rev- 
erently took it up, pressed it to his lips, and then, as 
he took Cadogan’s hand, said : “ It cannot be a 
dream. I will go with you on into life’s future. Hold 
my hand.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE LOVER. 



HE damp, raw days of March had passed away, 


^ and April had come with its swelling buds and 
opening leaves, and the camp at Triune had assumed 
all the appearance of a city of tents. The long, 
straight streets were cleanly swept each morning, and 
the dividing avenues between regiments or brigades 
had become smooth highways. The sutlers had 
erected permanent stores, and groups of contented 
soldiers stood about them, trading, smoking and 
chatting. Squads of drummer-boys were led reluct- 
antly away by the grizzled old drum-major to a re- 


AArn /AT UNIFORM. 


n 


tired spot up the valley, where for two hours they 
were to learn and practice the mysteries of the per- 
rididdle, flam, and drag beats. The morning drill 
was over, with the exception of squads of recruits, 
which were led by drill-sergeants to open places in 
the grove, and were there put through the facings, or 





“YOU WILL REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS IN A HALF HOUR.” 

for hours beat the ground with their feet, to the mon- 
otonous calls of Right! Left! and Mark time — March! 

The offlcers were congregated beneath the trees, 
smoking and reading the daily papers. Such was the 
camp of instruction at Triune in 1863. 

“ Cadogan,” said Campbell, “ you will report at 
headquarters, completely equipped, in a half hour. 


24 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


to do provost duty at a house about a mile from 
here.’’ 

Cadogan knocked the ashes from his pipe, put it 
in his pocket, and turned to throw his property into 
his knapsack. 

“ It is a soft job,” said Campbell, “just to sit on the 
front piazza and keep stragglers from marauding on 
the premises. If the people like you, you will be 
asked to sit at the table and dine with the family. 
You can stand your musket in a corner and read all 
day. I will come out and see you every day.” 

“ Thank you,” said Cadogan, as he opened his cart- 
ridge box and counted his supply of cartridges. 

“And,” said Campbell, with emphasis, “the mis- 
tress of the plantation is the handsomest young 
woman you ever saw. I wish I had your detail.” 

“ Won’t the orderly-sergeant change it and send you 
out ?” asked Cadogan, as he stopped his preparations 
for a moment. 

“ What a muff you are, Cadogan!” said Campbell, 
with a laugh, “ You are the handsomest fellow in the 
company, and yet you never speak to a girl. I tell 
you, old man, I had a crying spell when we left Gal- 
latin. There was one of the nicest little girls there, 
and I am going to hunt her up, after this cruel war is 
over, and take her North with me.” 

Cadogan was busy, now, stowing his rations into 
his haversack and, seemingly, heard nothing Camp- 
bell was saying. With a snort of anger, Campbell 
went out and left him. 

The Johnson estate was situated about a mile south 
of Triune, and was a grand property. A hint, at least, 
might be seen now of what it had been before the war. 
The big house, as it was called, was a noble structure, 


AA^D IN UNIFORM. 


25 


and a typical Southern home. Long, low, and 
rambling, but commodious, it stood on a command- 
ing hill in the centre of the estate. It was surrounded 
by verandas, and we might imagine how its hospit- 
able open doors and chair-covered piazzas looked in 
ante-bellum days. At the rear were long rows of 
whitewashed and well-kept negro cabins. But plant- 
ing was not the vocation of its owner. Even at that 
time the hundreds of acres of rich pastures were 
dotted with choice stock, not yet driven off by friends 
or foes. The slaves were the drivers and feeders of 
the yearlings, two-year-olds, and brood mares which 
were famous all over Tennessee. The aged planter 
was dead, the son was with Buckner in the Con- 
federate Army and Addie Johnson, the young mis- 
tress, was managing the estate alone. 

“You will make yourself at home here,” said the 
corporal to Cadogan. “ See that property is not in- 
terfered with, report any marauding, and do not leave 
the grounds. You need not stand on guard, only 
keep your musket in sight, sleep on the veranda nights 
and wait further orders.” 

As the corporal turned to go back to camp, Cad- 
ogan looked about him to take in the situation. Then 
he leaned his musket against the edge of the veranda, 
filled his pipe, took a book from his knapsack, and fell 
to reading. 

Gradually the sun sank, and the heavy whirring of 
the buzzards, as they gathered in flocks and narrowed 
into solid groups while they drew near the forest back, 
of the house, attracted the reader’s momentary atten- 
tion. Then the dusk came on, and he heard the cries 
and laughter of the dusky little slave children as they 
gathered into the cabins. He tried to read a moment 


26 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


longer, but the sudden April nightfall baffled his eyes, 
and he was about to replace the book in his knapsack 
when he heard a rich, deep, feminine voice say : 

“ Ah, Robert, you run too many risks. It is only a 
mile to camp, and the Federals would give a good 
deal to capture a Confederate colonel.” 

Sister, this is my home. I hungered for another 
sight of the old house. I wondered how you could 
be able to manage the estate in our absence. I should 
have come had I known I should risk my life. Are 
you safe, so near a camp of the Yankees? I am 
sure they owe us no good will, and I have been appre- 
hensive.” 

“ Why, Robert, I have received only kind treatment 
from the Yankees, as you call them. Even to-day I 
asked for a guard, and one is promised to me, to re- 
main on duty while the army is here.” 

“ Lucky,” said the masculine voice, “ that he has 
not been sent yet, or I might not get back to Col- 
umbia to-morrow.” 

Then the voices died away, and Cadogan sat quiet 
as the night grew darker and darker. No one ever 
knew his thoughts and conclusions, but he did not 
sleep that night. He sat and listened to the call of 
night-birds and the sighing of the wind. When the 
stir of nature told him that a new day was dawning, 
he heard also the occasional jingle of a sabre, carefully 
carried in hand, or the stumbling of a careless foot 
against an unseen stone, and he knew a cordon of 
cavalry was being stationed about the house. Softly 
he crossed the veranda and knocked on the window 
where he had heard the voices. The window was 
gently raised, and a feminine voice asked: 

“ Who is there ?” 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


27 


I am the guard you requested. I am on duty here 
since last evening. Wake up your brother, Colonel 
Johnson, and tell him to come here instantly. Ask 
no questions, but send him here.” 

“ Colonel Johnson is not here ” she began 

“ Madam, the house is surrounded with cavalry 
waiting for daylight to arrest him. He cannot escape. 
Now, send him to me and I will save him.” 

“ I am here already. I heard your voices. I am 
also armed. Now, my fine fellow, what do you want ?” 
said a masculine voice in the darkness. 

“Colonel,” said Cadogan, “the house is surrounded. 
Speak low and answer my questions honestly, if you 
wish to live. Are you here as a spy ?” 

“I am not,” answered the voice. 

“ Have you secured any information to carry away 
which may inure to the injury of our army ?” asked 
Cadogan. 

“ Honestly, I have not. I am here to visit my sister. 
She was alone, and I yearned to see my home and her 
once more,” said the colonel. 

“ Then step out here on the veranda,” said Cadogan. 
“Take off your uniform, roll it up, and put it in my 
knapsack. Take from the knapsack my dress uniform 
and put it on, cap and all. Now take my gun and 
walk down to the gate, and challenge the first soldier 
you meet. You are Campbell of Company H, Thirty- 
fifth, and are out here with Cadogan of the same 
company, who lies asleep on the veranda. Go on, 
quick !” 

Cadogan lay down, and was soon apparently asleep 
with the knapsack under his head. He soon heard a 
challenge, a whispered conversation, and the rustling 
of a hundred feet as they closed up around the house. 


28 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Pretty soon he felt a prod of a sabre, and sprang up, 
saying: 

“ What are you doing here ?” 

What are you doing here, asleep, and a rebel col- 
onel in the house ?” said an officer. 

“ Somebody has been lying to you, I guess,” said 
Cadogan, yawning. I have been on guard here 
since four o’clock last night, and I have seen no 
colonels going into the house.” 

“ It was a ^ nigger who told you, anyway, wasn’t 

it, cap ?” asked one of the men. 

“ Yes, but they are generally straight,” he answered. 
“ But how comes two of you on post here, anyway ?” 

“Campbell was put on, and I came down to visit 
with him,” said Cadogan. 

“You are a suspicious-looking chap, anyway, and 
you will have to go to camp and show yourself 
straight,” said the angry officer. 

“All right,” said Cadogan, as he took up and 
shouldered his knapsack. 

“ Did you find anyone ?” asked the captain of a 
sergeant who had searched the house. 

“Not a soul; only Miss Johnson and her colored 
girls,” sarid the angry sergeant. 

“ It’s a cursed pretty how-d’ye-do. Up all night 
and nothing to show for it. I’ve got through follow- 
ing up nigger yarns. Here, I’ll take your name and 
you need not go back to camp with us. Cadogan, eh! 
Well, all right. Fall in, men,” and the captain lit a 
cigar ; then, as they filed out of the gate, he said to 
the tall soldier with the musket: “You are all right 
and attending to business. What’s your name ? Yes, 
Campbell. I’ll report you all right.” 

The stalwart colonel saluted the captain, and stood 


AJVD m UNIFORM. 


29 


with shouldered musket. Cadogan stood dreamily 
watching the rising sun until the cavalry contingent 
had galloped off down the pike. Then the Confeder- 
ate took off the blue cap, bowed, and said: 

“ Sir, I wish to thank you in terms such as one gen- 
tleman should use toward another, but I cannot. I 
can only say, God bless you, and trust I may some- 
time have the power to pay a tithe of my debt.” 

Cadogan did not hear him. He stood in a trance 
of admiration, and said: 

“ Can we blame the Persians for making a deity of 
the grandest object God ever put in nature— the sun? 
Is not all life derived from the sun, from the blade of 
grass up to man? See the world awake silently. No 
call is heard, but millions of forms of life stir at the 
sun-god’s call.” 

The colonel looked on the rapt face, and reaching 
out his hand, touched the enthusiast. He collected 
himself and turned with a smile. 

“You did not hear my words; will you understand 
this ?” and the rebel officer folded the slight form of 
Cadogan in his arms. 

“Yes,” said he, “I understand. I was your Provi- 
dence. Change the garments back and bid your 
sister farewell. This will not end the search.” Then 
he turned to the veranda and was soon plunged in 
deep study over a book he drew from his pocket. 
When the demands of hunger drew his attention, he 
said, in soliloquy: 

“ I am disturbed in thought. I am not at my mental 
poise. It will take me many days to get back where 
I was in mastery of emotion. I saw no one in the 
dark, yonder, but I heard a voice — a mellow, rich, 
vibrating voice — and I am not now the philosopher.” 


30 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


CHAPTER V. 

TRAMMELS. 

WOU are an interested reader,” said Miss John- 
i son, as she stopped in the path beside a tall 
tree where Cadogan sat reading. A week had passed, 
and the sun was now warming the earth with almost 
summer heat. Cadogan arose and brought his hand 
to his cap in salute. In the other hand he held that 
companion of all his leisure hours — a book. He said, 
in a weary tone: 

Yes, I am interested when I discover a new book. 
It has for me all the interest of outcropping gold to 
the eager miner. I may find a vast treasure or only 
a meagre deposit, but until I have read the new book 
I live on expectation. This is Herbert Spencer.” 

“Then,” said his questioner, “ may I ask if you feel 
rich after your mining, or have you dug for nothing ?” 

“ A beautiful song gains by repetition, and though 
I find nothing new, I am paid for reading,” and he 
looked lovingly at the volume. 

“ You speak very patronizingly of such a deep 
work, especially for so young a man,” said the lady, 
with a smile. 

“ The search through literature for some new state- 
ment of man’s condition or future is like the child’s 
search at the end of the rainbow for buried treasures. 
We never reach the end of the rainbow — possibly the 
truth is there,” and Cadogan sighed. 

“I beg pardon if I seem rude, Mr. Cadogan; but is 
it not strange that a man of your peculiar tastes and 
acquirements should be a common soldier, doing the 


AJV£> IN UNIFORM. 


3 ^ 


servile duties of the camp ?” and in spite of her 
guarded tone a tremulous cadence in her voice re- 
vealed that a more than ordinary interest dictated 
her question. 

Cadogan for the first time withdrew his dreamy 
eyes from the contemplation of the distant forest-line, 
and looked her full in the face; then his gaze fell until 
it rested on one slender foot, with which she patted 
the ground. 

Possibly no handsome woman has ever been re- 
garded in the same way by a remarkably handsome 
man. It was the steady, critical look of a philosopher 
at some new and wonderful species of animal. No 
admiration gleamed in the slumbrous depths of the 
blue eyes. No hurried breath parted the chiseled 
lips beneath the drooping mustache. The ivory 
cheek was as pallid and calm as if the eyes were con- 
ning a complicated sentence in his Spencer. 

Seldom had man, however, gazed unmoved on such 
beauty. Slender and graceful as the reeds along her 
native streams, with an eye of midnight blackness, 
and brown cheeks through which a tinge of rose 
shone as light shines through porcelain; willowy in 
motion, as a spray bending before the wind, and with 
every muscle springy as steel from fifteen years of 
daily horseback riding, Addie Johnson, with her white 
teeth and crimson lips, stood with one gloved hand 
swinging her riding whip, and smilingly waited for 
an answer. Cadogan sighed as he raised his eyes, 
and said: 

Excuse me, madam. No, it is not strange. My 
individuality is not changed by my subservience in 
the army. I am one of a million pawns moved in a 
game where victory means the advance of all mankind.” 


3 ^ 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


A hot flush of anger reddened Addie’s cheek as she 
answered: 

“ Victory to your army means the crushing of the 
finest civilization the world has ever seen. Look 
around you. Look over the broad acres of this 
swelling upland. Look at my home, here. Five 
hundred guests have met here on this lawn and in 
these broad rooms, while a hundred servants obeyed 
their lightest wish. These trees and flowers about us 
have nodded and swayed to the cadence of sweetest 
music and the rhythmic beat of human feet in merry 
dance. Who is dissatisfied with this luxurious civili- 
zation ? Northern Puritans, thick-headed toilers at 
trades, utilitarian and cold-blooded fanatics,” and she 
panted in her excitement. 

Cadogan was again dreaming, but he said, like one 
talking in his sleep: 

“Yes, it is like the gossamer threads clinging to 
forest-leaves, or the sea-anemones complaining at the 
rising tides. Civilization would sleep at the silver 
margin of the sea, but the swelling waves drench the 
startled sleepers. It was a beautiful civilization, but 
I saw the robe woven that she wore. There was 
blood in its dyes and degradation in every fibre. 
Yonder, beyond the swelling acres, I see the hut of 
the poor white — more awful his degradation than 
the chains on the slave. Yes, there was music, but 
it drowned the hoarse note of agony, and while you 
reveled there was another Euphrates turned from its 
course, and while you drank from golden cups fate 
was knocking at the door of your palace.” 

Addie’s crimson lower lip curled with anger, while 
she raised her tiny riding-whip to strike an angry 
blow. Cadogan was still looking far away, and said: 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


33 


“ But I see a new shore-line far up the strand of 
the years. I see this country, vast and strong, still 
the asylum for the weary of all God’s earth. Her 
millions doubled and trebled of wise and educated 
and enterprising men ; the stone hewn out of the 
mountain filling the whole earth. And then cometh 
the time when the spiritual reign will begin, the time 
of which I dream, when appetite and passion and love 
shall be the slaves, and not the rulers.” 

Slowly the hand holding the whip fell at her side, 
and she repeated: “ And love ?” 

Yes, even love,” and he drew down his eyes until 
again, in dreamy scrutiny, they rested on the regal 
form, the swelling bust, the soft, dark eyes, and at 
last they stopped contentedly at the beating foot. 
Then he said, as in soliloquy: “ What is love ? Would 
it woo the song-bird from the clouds and sunshine, 
from its odorous home in the forest, and shut it in a 
golden cage until its life is beaten out against the 
bars ? Would it pluck the flower from excess of love, 
and kiss it until it withers ? Is that love ? Ay, as 
the sun woos the dew, as the north wind woos the 
flower, that is human love.” 

“ But if love comes unbidden?” said Addie, in a low 
tone. 

“Then lock the door upon it ; serve it like all un- 
bidden guests,” and Cadogan raised his eyes, and 
with a child-like gaze searched the dark depths of 
her beautiful eyes. Then he said : “Lady, I will 
speak with no desire to offend. May I speak?” 

She nodded, and the bloom grew deeper on her 
cheek. 

“ I could find it in my heart to lay my life at your 
feet, to ask that I might carry with me the thought 


34 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


that out of all the millions of earth you were the one 
who understood me; but I dare not love — I dare not 
ask a woman’s love. Like planets in their orbits, for 
a moment we are steadied by mutual attractions, and 
then swing on into new magnetic influences and ever- 
widening orbits. You will understand me when I say 
that one touch of your hand would draw me from a 
life-work, one deep look into your eyes would blind 
my eyes to the studies of a score of years. Have I 
offended ? If so, strike me — I will not cower.” 

“ You are a strange man,” she said. 

Am I ? Why should I be deemed so strange? Is 
it strange for a man to live a life with but one pur- 
pose — to seek to penetrate the mysteries of his exist- 
ence ? To be again the Adam of allegory, with a 
warning from the tree of knowledge of good and 
evil? To listen everywhere for the voice that spake 
in the cool of the day ? To stifle every cry of nature ? 
To strangle a new-born love, to curb even manly 
anger or vengeance, and seek a perfect control of the 
machinery of life? Ah, pity me, lady; I do not ask 
for love.” 

The hands of the beautiful woman were clasped 
now in intense curiosity, and she asked, in a strained 
voice: 

But are all your attainments worth the sacrifice ?” 

High and sonorous came his answer: 

Was it a lie when Saturn said they should be as 
gods ? But then, what shall come to him who tastes 
not the tree? Will he not come into the secrets of 
futurity ? Will he not feel the throes of change in 
Nature’s bosom and talk with hidden forces ? For- 
give me; your voice troubled me in the night and I 
could not sleep. Do not speak to me again. It will 


AND IN UNIFORM, 


35 


be better for us both,” and he turned away and 
sought his musket. He raised it to his shoulder and 
walked along the garden-path. 

“ One moment, Cadogan,” she said. 

He halted and came back, but his eyes did not en- 
counter hers. 

‘‘ Cadogan,” she said, lashing the tender, springing 
flowers beside the path with her whip, I would not 
be so foolish as to call one unmanly who risked his 
life to save my brother.” 

“It was nothing,” he said. 

“To me it was everything,” she said. “ I will not 
be unwomanly, but while I thank you and reverence 
a type of manhood I have never known before, let me 
ask, may not a woman walk those calm heights you 
describe ?” 

A new light came into Cadogan’s eyes, and he said: 

“ If ever we stand again upon a plane of sympathy, 
I shall come to you and you will come to me. I am 
now only the soldier. Farewell.” 

“ Put that gun to your shoulder and salute when 
you see a superior officer approaching,” said a maudlin 
voice. Cadogan knew the voice. It was that of Cap- 
tain Woodson of his regiment. He was drunk now, 
and very rigid in his discipline. 

One curse of the service in a volunteer army was 
the strange fortune of war which often put some 
ignorant brute into a commission and left some bril- 
liant, educated men in the ranks. How soon some 
coarse, vulgar wretches would find the sensitive nat- 
ures in their command and gall them with bitter 
insults which they dared not resent! Here was the 
contrast: Captain Woodson and Cadogan. Woodson 
had been a journeyman tailor at home, and much 


36 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

sitting: on the tailor’s bench had made him fat and 

<D 

ungainly. Army whisky and officer’s rations had in- 
creased his bulk. Here in the presence of a lady was 
a chance to show his importance. His sandy hair 
was cropped short, but his red whiskers shone in a 
bright glory around his coarse face. He saw that 
Cadogan had obeyed him, and that Miss Johnson 
stood spell-bound. 

Prese7tt — arfns ! That’s all right. Shoulder — ar??is / 
That’s pretty good. Now stand here until I come 
back,” and the drunken brute stalked on toward the 
house. 

From the lowest animals to the highest man, the 
male resent§ an insult in the presence of a ’female 
companion. The game-cock and the knight in his 
tournament find inspiration in female eyes. To say 
that Cadogan did not feel the insult would make him 
less than man, but his philosophy conquered and he 
was soon sunken in reverie. Miss Johnson walked 
along at the side of the truculent officer, and he said, 
in a boasting tone: 

“We have to keep these soldiers in their places.” 

“ Indeed,” said Addie, “ if the officers had been 
kept in their places, we should not have had to fight 
so many.” 

“ I am afraid I do not understand you,” said the 
captain. 

“ Why, for instance, tailors and cobblers who hold 
commissions instead of a goose or lapstone,” and 
Addie smiled. 

“ By Jove! madam, you had better be careful, or 
your protection will be withdrawn and you will need 
some of these officers you scorn now,” and the cap- 
tain’s face turned as red as his whiskers. 


AATD IN UNIFORM, 


37 


With woman’s instinct she made a good guess, and 
said: 

“ I have taken a stitch in time and have a guard, 
you see.” 

“ I see you are determined to insult me,” said the 
captain, “and I will call again when you are better- 
natured,” and he turned and strode down the path. 
In his drunken anger he stopped to annoy the soldier 
who was in his power. “Why don’t you present arms 
when you see me coming ?” 

“ You do not wear the sash of the officer of the day, 
and I am not supposed to present arms to you,” said 
Cadogan. 

“ Teach me, will you!” said the brute, and he raised 
his sword and scabbard and struck Cadogan full in 
the face. 

“Coward !” hissed a woman’s voice in his ear, as 
Cadogan fell insensible to the ground. Then the 
little whip whisked through the air and left a hot, red 
ridge across the bloated face. A shower of blows fol- 
lowed, and he turned, and, with curses, ran down into 
the high-road. Now the whip was dropped, and the 
woman nature returned. The bleeding face was 
lifted to her bosom, and she screamed for her women 
to come and assist her, as she moaned : “ It is my 
fate. I love him — I love him.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE VOODOO. 

A mong the more gracious features of the better 
days of American slavery there stand out promi- 
nently in my memory the isolated cabins of the better 


38 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


sort of slaves. The rows of whitewashed huts were 
the accessories of the institution only on the larger 
plantations, and even then the more trusty or aged 
servants had reared, somewhere near the big house, 
some small log-houses with pretensions to individu- 
ality in architectural design or outside adornment or 
location. I call up some pleasant pictures of such 
isolated and quaint residences, and .1 cannot stifle a 
sigh of regret for a vanished scene with such lovable 
features. With hundreds or thousands of acres to 
choose from, it would be strange if the big house 
were not admirably located. Some pleasant “ run,” 
or brook, ran close by the premises ; or if the house 
stood on an elevation, then in the little hollow below 
it there was a silvery, ever-flowing spring of water, 
clear as crystal, cold as if the flat Tennessee lime- 
stone were a glacier of Alpine ice over which it flowed. 
In this hollow might also be seen the spring-house, 
pride of some dusky Dinah’s heart, and special aim 
of the hungry and marauding soldier. Here, above 
the purling waters, on commodious shelves reposed 
the crocks of sweet, cold milk, and here in brown jars 
were the “ pats ” of yellow butter, and often the cold 
meats or jars of preserves stood waiting for coming 
meals at the big house. Hollowed out of the flat 
rock was a capacious spring, and on its sandy marge 
the ready gourd, to assuage the thirst of any, or to 
dip up water for the kitchen. No artist’s imagina- 
tion has ever put on canvas fairer scenes than nature 
and circumstances had made real in the palmy days 
of Middle Tennessee. At that time the primeval 
forest came unbroken up to the line of cultivated 
fields. The scream of the steam-whistle and shriek 
of the buzz-saw were as yet unheard in the land. 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


39 


Timber was only something to be cleared off and 
burned, and hundreds of giant trees were girdled and 
left standing to rot down, while waving fields of 
wheat grew between the dead forest monarchs. Na- 
ture was a Samson not to be soon controlled, but 
might be bound when her locks of profuse growth 
were sheared. Profusion of vitality, masses of ver- 
dure, clambering vines, and mighty trees were the in- 
dications on every hand of the boundless plenty wait- 
ing to be gathered by any hand. 

In the case of the Johnson estate the forest came 
up unbroken nearly to the big house. Giant oaks 
and gums, as startling in their grandeur as those De 
Soto looked upon, stood waving their foliage in hear- 
ing of the house — ^a vast repository of wealth, to be 
gathered by a more practical race a few years hence. 
Along the stream stood odorous cedars, used only for 
rails about broad fields. A brawling tributary of the 
Harpeth ran down past the house and disappeared in 
the forest. On the steep bank of this stream stood 
one of those picturesque huts which, however poor, 
have the wondrous power of appealing to our love of 
the beautiful. Built of rough logs, and having only 
one door and window, yet beneath the window show- 
ing the bank of gaudy flowers and the white deal 
bench and water-pail and gourd. At the window a 
white curtain, and inside the open door the ends of 
the white, well-scoured floor-boards. A pathway 
down the steep bank to the stream, where a plank, 
sunken in the earth, made a staging on which to 
stand and dip the bucket into the silvery stream. 
Minnows turned up their silvery sides in the sunlight, 
and nibbled sportively at the white edge of the plank. 

Leaning against the jamb of the open door stood 


40 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


the queen of this Arcadian scene. Tall and spare, 
with features almost Caucasian in regularity, and 
with just that tint of yellow which marks the quad- 
roon, she was a remarkable and startling mistress of 
the scene. Of that race which gives so few signs by 
which to determine age, she might be an aged yet 
handsome woman, or possibly still comparatively 
young. There was about her none of the coarse 
habiliments which marked the slave, no evidences of 
squalid poverty or wearing toil. She stood erect, 
gazing dreamily on the shimmering air of the warm 
springtime ; but she evidently hears an approaching 
step, and the form grows more erect, and a harsh, 
commanding expression settles upon her face, as if she 
expects to greet some troubled and ignorant member 
of her own race. But a look of curiosity usurps the 
place of the usual scowl as she listens to the rapid, 
pattering footfalls so different from the usual slouch- 
ing steps of her visitors. A swish of rustling skirts is 
heard, and a beautiful apparition fills the narrow path 
leading to the big house. With the red cheeks heated 
by exercise, the rosy lips parted by the hurried breath, 
and the skirts gathered in hand and carried high, 
Addie Johnson smiles up into the face of the quad- 
roon. The lips of the tall woman gather into a look 
of anger, but she says no word. 

“ Myra, I have never been down here since I was a 
little girl. I thought I would come down and see 
your home.” 

Silently the quadroon turned and led the way into 
her cabin, and placed a chair for her guest. 

Myra,” she said again, “ we have always been kind 
to you, and as father bade us do we have done. Since 
you came to us with the hands we bought in New 


^JVjD in uniform. 


41 


Orleans, we have never sent you to the fields, and you 
have been queen on the estate.” 

“ Yes, missus,” said Myra, with a look of curiosity. 

“ Why father was so kind to you, I do not know, 
but we have obeyed his orders. Perhaps he thought 
there was some real power in your horrid voodoo 
worship. ” 

“ Perhaps,” said the rigid woman. 

“ How long ago did you come on the place, Myra.^” 
questioned Addie. 

“ Twenty-five years ago.” 

And were you queen then 

“ Always,” said Myra, proudly. “ I was born queen. 
My mother was queen. I am of a royal race.” 

‘‘We have always been kind to you, Myra ?” 

“ Yes,” said the slave, and she peered curiously into 
her young mistress’s face. 

“Is there anything in those charms and supersti- 
tions which the hands believe in, Myra ?” and the 
beautiful face grew eager. 

“Yes, missus. There is the control of the ignorant 
race to which I belong. There is the power over 
every colored person about the country. I could send 
a flame of fire over the rich plantations about me, or 
at a word I could calm the shrieking demons into 
slaves at my feet. You do not seem startled at my 
speech. I am not like the cattle who toil about me. I 
was educated and reared with my master’s family, 
and read the same books with my young mistress.” 

“ How could you remain a slave, then, Myra ?” 

“ How could I be anything else with this skin, with 
these tell-tale waving tresses ? Ha, ha ! Miss Addie, 
the world can see a dark skin, but cannot see a white 
heart.” 


42 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


God knows I am sorry, Myra, and I wish I might 
set you in your proper place in the world.” 

“ It is coming,'’ said Myra, and the enthusiasm of 
the pythoness swelled her breast ; “ it is coming and 
near at hand.” 

“ And so there is nothing in the voodoo charms, 
only the control of the superstitious ?” said Addie. 

“ Who said so ? Is there not deadly danger in my 
hatred ? Can I not undo evil or set fast the chains of 
hate ? Can I not bind hearts in love and bring back 
wandering affections ? But, missus, the white folks 
laugh at us. They do not believe in the God of the 
negro,” and Myra sank back in her chair. 

“ I came, Myra, to ask if your charms had power, 
or were only to astonish the credulity of the field- 
hands ?” 

“ You could not stand the sight of a work,” said 
Myra ; “ you come only out of curiosity, to see the 
show.” 

“ I am in trouble, and I came half believing in your 
‘ work,' as you call it. I am afraid of nothing,” and 
Addie drew herself up proudly. 

“You wish a work ?” and Myra arose, and with a 
sinuous motion and warily as a serpent she glided 
across the floor. She commenced a monotonous, 
dirge-like song in her native creole dialect, as she ap- 
proached a stand of drawers in a distant corner of the 
room. She took up in her hand a small box adorned 
with tinkling silver bells. Shaking this in her hand, 
she sang more loudly and approached her young mis- 
tress. As she came close she thrust her hand into the 
box, and the sharp, rasping buzz which is erroneously 
called the rattling of the rattlesnake arose within the 
box. An involuntary scream came from Addie as she 


AA^D IN UNIFORM. 


43 



saw Myra draw from the open box a glittering ser- 
pent. It writhed about her arm, the rasping note of 
attack mingling with the tinkling of the bells and the 
droning song. Its tongue flew in and out like forked 


“see, MYRA, I WORSHIP YOUR AWFUL POWER. I CREEP TO YOU 
ON MY KNEES AND BEG FOR LOVE.” 


lightning, and with a laugh Myra held it so near her 
face that its acrid, musky breath must have touched 
her cheek. Then in a mad dance she swayed about 
the room. Louder and wilder grew her song, and 
Addie crouched lower and lower in her chair. Now 


44 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


the serpent was twined about the shapely neck of the 
voodoo woman, and its fiery eyes were beside her own; 
and the jingling bells, mad song, and wild dance made 
a hellish compound of noise which sickened the terri- 
fied girl. The features of the pythoness grew rigid 
and the eyes set, as the cadence grew slower and 
slower and the voice husky. At last the serpent is 
plunged into the box and hastily covered. The box 
is placed in the centre of the floor, and with a shriek 
the voodoo worshipper steps upon it, and says, hur- 
riedly: 

“ Speak now, and I will answer.” 

“I love, Myra, I love!” cried the terrified girl. 

“ It is the curse and the boon of our sex. What 
would you have ?” 

“I would be loved in return,” the girl cried. 

^‘Two hearts must be broken. You cannot love 
and bless; you must carry misery to another heart. 
I bid you stay,” said the strident voice. 

“ I must have love, Myra; if in your demon incan- 
tations there is a charm for love, give it me,” said 
Addie, in hurried accents. 

“ I see only misery in that love. Oh, beware, be- 
ware!” and the almost breathless woman sighed. 

“ I care not. Mine is unlike common love. See, 
Myra, I worship your awful power. I creep to you on 
my knees and beg for love. One draught of such 
love as I can give and receive, and then let me die,” 
and the wrefched girl crept forward on her knees to 
the erect oracle. 

“It must be so. You will not turn away into quiet 
nooks of regret and cherish a secret love. Here, then, 
take and conceal it about the garments of the loved 
one. Speak no word to him. Put not yourself in his 


AN£> IN UNIFORM. 


45 


path nor obtrude yourself upon him at any time. He 
shall seek you. When the moon is high and the stars 
clear, and the blossoms of midsummer scent the heavy 
midnight air, he shall come. Across streams, over 
mountains, weary miles or merry walks, he shall come; 
but drink deep of the sweet draught, for summer 
heats shall dry the streams. I am done,” and she 
drew a little packet from her bosom and dropped it at 
her feet. 

The delirium had passed, and the mad devotee 
staggered to her couch and fell into a heavy sleep. 
Addie drew from her pocket a coin of gold, dropped 
it upon the table, and hurriedly picked up the packet 
from the floor. As she did so she touched the silver 
bells upon the box, and she was greeted with a languid 
hiss and heard the rustling of the snake within. 
Shuddering, she fled through the open door, and mut- 
tered, with blanched lips: 

“ It may be true. It may be true. Others believe 
in the horrid incantation, and I will reach the calm 
heart of the philosopher with a human love at last.” 

The exhausted sleeper on the bed turned, her long 
arms were cast abroad upon the bed, and she mut- 
tered in her heavy sleep. 


CHAPTER VII. 

AN EXPERIMENT. 

i i TT ARD at it yet, I see,” was the loud and cheery 
^ ^ greeting of Campbell, as he, with a comrade, 
walked up the avenue of the Johnson estate, a week 
later. Campbell’s companion was a tall, fair-haired 


46 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


youth of a pallid complexion, who had left his college, 
as did many others, to enter the volunteer army. He, 
like Cadogan, loved the big robust soldier, and 
seemed to draw vitality from his superfluous stores of 
strength. Cadogan looked up from his book and 
greeted his comrades with a smile. 

“ How did you get that crack on the forehead ?” 
asked Campbell, noticing the blue wound made by 
Captain Woodson’s sword. 

“ Army discipline,” answered Cadogan, with more 
bitterness than he usually allowed himself in speech. 

“ Has Woodson been out here ?” asked Simmons, 
the slim youth. 

“You have guessed it,” answered Cadogan. 

“Drunk, as usual, probably,” said Simmons, with a 
sneer. “ He knows who to strike, too. If he ever 
mistakes a common man for a philosopher, he will get 
more discipline than he bargains for. I am not afraid 
of his striking Campbell when he is drunk.” 

“ No, he never will,” said Campbell, dryly. “ But 
he seems to understand our prophet and seer, Cado- 
gan, and knows his principles will not allow him to 
become angry or retaliate. Say, Cadogan, what kind 
of a religious menagerie do you belong to, any way ? 
Simmons and I will sit down and smoke, while you 
give us the programme that you are performing on.” 

“ Boys,” said Cadogan, very thoughtfully, “ I know 
you mean well, and have only put on that outward 
roughness to conform to army life. I would as lief 
have you know my views as not, and the more as I 
sometimes think I shall soon end my career in the 
army. My last experience has shown me how frail a 
tenure I hold life on at best. Will you give me your 
candid and careful attention for a few moments?” 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


47 


“We will, Cadogan,” both said. 

“Well, then, I am the forerunner in this country of 
a coming army of men who shall seek to determine 
man’s connection with the Infinite. They will elevate 
man’s spiritual nature until mortality will merge into 
immortality without the chasm of death and the grave. 
Does it seem improbable?” 

“ It is a dream,” said Campbell, with a shrug. 

“Exactly; and dreams are the pictures of what has 
occurred, or may occur, in real life,” said Cadogan. 
“ Dreams are isolated experiences, without precedent 
or continuation, nevertheless actual experiences. So, 
if man dreams of perfect control of natural forces and 
ultimate ripening into eternal existence, the dream 
has a promise of fulfillment.” 

“ How far has man ever traveled that road ?” asked 
Simmons, curiously. 

“ Throwing aside myth and legend^ we find hints 
and reliable data for believing that in all ages there 
have been men who have stood on the confines of im- 
mortal existence. In some ages they have been called 
prophets, in some ages seers, and in some ages the 
highest title of all, teachers. Among the Hebrews, 
Abraham ; among the Chinese, Confucius ; among 
the Persians, Zoroaster ; among the East Indians, 
Buddha.” 

“ And Christ ?” asked Simmons, in a reverent voice. 

“I dare not class Him among men,” said Cadogan. 

“And you think men may, in this age, tread on the 
same undefined shores ?” asked Campbell. 

“I believe that from age to age there has been 
stored up the accumulating knowledge of these mys- 
teries,” cried Cadogan, with enthusiasm. “ My life, 
since I became a thoughtful youth, has been given to 


48 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


searching out these stores of knowledge. I have been 
able to decipher the secrets of sarcophagi. I have 
reverently turned the leaves of worn Coptic books 
or scrolls. I have handled the musty parchments 
of rabbins and the papyri and tablets of India. I 
have caught the jargon of fakirs and the droning of 
Kurdish priests. Nay, I have sat at the feet of the 
Buddhistic cave-teachers and been enrolled among 
the adepts. From the ravings of the voodoo priests 
of Africa to the ravings of modern Christian scien- 
tists, I have studied and pondered them all.” 

“ And what have you learned ?” asked Campbell. 

“ I have learned to enlarge the soul until it per- 
meates the flesh as light irradiates the senseless glass. 
I have learned to control every emotion until the 
heart can almost stop its rhythmic beat, and hunger 
or pain or lust dare not assert a claim. I stand al- 
most where the garment of flesh may be laid aside 
as a worn mantle, and the naked spirit sport amid its 
kindred ether. I have paid the price of knowledge, 
and I tell you this, that when my test comes you 
may recall my words.” 

“ Is not this in the line of spiritualism or clairvoy- 
ance ?” Simmons asked, curiously. 

Cadogan smiled and said: 

“ What you call spiritualism, or more properly 
spiritism, is as a child’s toy compared to an ocean 
steamer. Spiritism is toying with a natural law, as 
Franklin first brought down electricity. Spiritism is 
not final, it is only one of a thousand phenomena in 
nature not understood of the vulgar. Spiritism never 
gave a fact to the world. It has no more to reveal 
of immortality than a horseshoe magnet has of the 
change of seasons. It is only a marvel for the igno- 


AXD IN’ UNIFORM. 


49 


rant, as a watch might be to a South Sea Islander. 
Buddhism changed the ethics of a continent, Confu- 
cius gave laws to millions, and Christ gave light to 
the whole world. Theosophy, if I am right, will 
prove man a child of Divinity.” 

“And clairvoyance ?” queried Simmons. 

“ Clairvoyance, as much of it as is real, is an exten- 
sion of faculties. You may hear sounds at a few 
rods’ distance ; another, a mile away. He of the 
acute hearing performs no miracle. One may see 
near by, and another discern objects five miles away; 
yet no miracle. One apprehends his neighbor’s 
thought by his countenance, another by sympathy 
reads an unseen and unspoken thought. Spiritism, 
clairvoyance, mesmerism, are the A B C’s of scientific 
and esoteric study,” and Cadogan sighed. 

“ Still, you believe them real ?” said Simmons. 

“Yes,” said Cadogan; “and useful as a demonstra- 
tion of natural laws. None of them touch the fact of 
immortality.” 

“ Could you show the phenomenon of all these 
cults ?” asked Simmons. 

“Any of them you wish.” said Cadogan. “Now 
and here, if you wish. Children will play with all of 
them in schools in fifty years. Will you allow me, 
Simmons, to throw you into the hypnotic state? You 
are particularly susceptible, I should judge by your 
temperament.” 

“ If you wish,” said Simmons; “ and I will give up 
immediately to your control. I never was afraid of 
these mysterious laws.” 

“Very good,” said Cadogan; “look now attentively 
into my eyes, and with these few passes, which are 
really only used to attract and fix your attention, for 


50 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


my will is all that operates upon your will, I will now 
put you to sleep.” 

Slowly the eyes of the subject closed and the head 
sank on the breast. 

“ No-w,” said Cadogan, “ we will go along this road 
southward. What do you see ?” 

“ Only the ford across the river,” said the sepulchral 
voice of the sleeper. 

‘‘ We will cross the ford and go along the road. 
What now ?” 

“A cross-road running to the right.” 

“Very good; let us run down this road.” 

“Stop!” said the sleeper. 

“ What is it ?” asked Cadogan. 

“Troops,” whispered the sleeper; “Rebel troops. 
Hist! I will lie down and watch them. Long regi- 
ments; old battle-stained flags. Hold on, here’s the 
regimental flag — Third Louisiana. Here’s a battery 
of artillery. The men are laughing. Talking of a sur- 
prise at Franklin to-morrow morning,” and Simmons 
stopped speaking. 

“Go on,” said Cadogan; “run along by the regi- 
ments and count the flags and the batteries, and see 
if there is any cavalry.” 

“ One, two, three regiments, a battery, a squadron 
of cavalry,” said the panting, dreamy voice. 

“ Run up ahead now,” said Cadogan, “and tell me 
what kind of a looking man is leading the forces.” 

“ Big, black-bearded, handsome man. I am tired,” 
said Simmons. 

“Very good; now we will awaken. So, a touch on 
the forehead here, and a pass there,” said Cadogan, 
“ and now, how do you like clairvoyance ?” 

“I am awfully tired,” said Simmons. 


AJVn IN UNIFORM. 


51 


“ Do you remember anything you saw in your 
sleep ?” asked Cadogani 

Not a thing,” said Simmons, as he smothered a 
yawn. 

“You would hardly believe you have traveled 
twelve miles and back in twelve minutes ?” said 
Cadogan. 

“ Not much.” 

“ Well, you have, and you have given as perfect a 
specimen of control as I ever saw.” 

“ And in regard to what he talked about,” asked 
Campbell — “ is that all a dream ?” 

“General Forrest is moving on Franklin with three 
thousand men, and it will be surprised to-morrow 
morning at sunrise unless we can throw in troops to 
re-enforce them to-night. Hurry to camp and tell 
the general to relieve me, as I wish to see him,” said 
Cadogan, in a excited tone. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A NIGHT MARCH. 

I F a Spy had been in the camp of instruction at 
Triune on the evening of that pleasant April day, 
he would have smiled to himself and inwardly con- 
gratulated himself on the apparent mystification of 
the Union forces. They were evidently expecting 
that most uncommon of all military events — a night 
attack. The regiments were all fully equipped even 
to haversack and canteen, and the cartridge-boxes, by 
their bulging appearance, contained the usual forty 


52 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


rounds of ammunition. The regimental colors were 
carried in their silken case at the centre of every regi- 
ment, and the long line of infantry stood at ease 
leaning on their rifles. McKinney’s battery was all 
alive. The horses were harnessed and stood eating 
their grain out of their nose-bags, while the cannon- 
eers were lying on the grass beside their beautiful 
brass pieces, with their priming and lanyard-bags be- 
side them. The postilions stood gravely beside their 
horses, smoking and watching their contented steeds 
munch their corn. Evidently the little camp expected 
an attack at any moment, and the one or more spies 
whose duty it was to supervise the camp, had 
chuckled and sneered and sent away the message : 
“ They expect the attack at Triune ; you can go 
ahead at Franklin and fear no re-enforcements from 
this point.” And so it seemed. It grew dark and 
the men commenced to grumble, and smothered 
oaths were heard on every hand at the folly of officers 
who feared a. night attack on a fortified camp. But 
when darkness had fully fallen, a word ran down the 
line and pipes were emptied not be lighted again, as 
they would indicate a line of march. And then the 
word came in a whisper, “ Right face. Forward — 
march and the men moved off, stumbling in the 
darkness. At the head of the line, on foot, walked 
the general, with the slight form of “Cadogan at his 
side. 

“You are sure of this attack on Franklin, I trust, 
Cadogan, for it would be a bad thing for me to re- 
port otherwise.” 

“I will stake my life upon it. I will walk by your 
side, and if I do not prove it, shoot me down,” said 
Cadogan, in a low tone. 


AATD IN UNIFORM. 


53 


“ And this twelve-mile march across country, with- 
out roads or guides — do you think we can reach 
Franklin before daylight?” asked the general, 
anxiously. 

“You should know, general, that one of the easiest 
things of acquisition to our fellow-students is this 
gift of direction. I shall be led directly to the be- 
sieged camp. If there are impassable streams be- 
tween here and there we shall fail ; otherwise by 
fording streams, climbing hills, and clambering over 
fences and logs we shall reach Franklin before the 
morning light.” 

“I am satisfied, and on your success in this adven- 
ture I will base my trust in the future. But I feel 
rain-drops on my face,” said the general ; “ and in 
addition to Cimmerian darkness we are to have a 
storm.” The general turned and said, in a low tone, 
to an aid, “ Tell the men to touch the file ahead and 
depend only on that. No spoken orders will be 
given.” 

A flash of lightning irradiated the forest about them 
and was reflected on a thousand shining wet leaves, 
and for an instant a thousand white faces were lighted 
up, and a thousand attitudes of grotesque and strange 
carefulness were photographed on the mind by the 
wide-open, staring pupils of the eyes ; mouths dis- 
tended by difficult and hard breathing ; eyes staring 
in fear, and on some faces the momentary gleam of a 
smile, as some soldier recounted a humorous story to 
some laughing comrade. Then darkness and the 
rumbling thunder. Blue electric gleams played along 
the thicket of bayonets, and as the ground shook be- 
neath the terrible concussion every step was palsied, 
and for an instant after only the pattering of the rain 


54 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


on rubber poncho and dripping leaf could be heard. 
The little army was on the point of going into a panic. 
Then from Tom Fitch, the Gargantuan of the regi- 
ment, came in military command to Heaven’s terrible 
artillery, Load ^ in five 7notions — load f* 

A long, loud laugh rang through the forest, and 
the relieving army moved on, the spell of fear broken. 

Then from the file in front would come the warn- 
ing : “ Look out, we are stepping down into a 
stream !” and in a moment would be felt the swirl of 
a swift and swollen current, swinging the wet gar- 
ments and lapping in a cold tide against the limbs. 
Then the slipping, sliding up the muddy banks as the 
heavy, sodden garments dripped superfluous moisture 
into the footprints which marked the unctuous soil. 
Ah ! it was a terrible night, and if occasionally a file 
was decimated, and some fainting soldier fell forgot- 
ten and unconscious beside the heavy path, who would 
know it ? The rain would patter into the wide-open, 
staring eyes, and the wet leaves blow amid the dark, 
auburn curls or jetty ringlets, and silence dark and 
dread would lull to sleep when the friendly footsteps 
had vanished in the distance. 

Barefooted, too, some of these plodding soldiers, 
their torn shoes left sticking in some mud hole or 
clasped in the quicksand of some stream. Bareheaded 
some, for the branches had torn away the forage-cap, 
and in that deadly darkness who would seek so trivial 
a thing as a cap ? Some limped on painful feet, torn 
by jagged rocks or twisted roots of trees. Twelve 
miles in pitchy darkness across country without even a 
bridle-path. Five years of war never gave such 
another experience, and those who passed through it 
had added hairs of gray and added wrinkles of care. 


AJV/J IN UNIFORM. 


55 


But the midnight storm' dies away, and the growling 
demons who ride upon the gale have wearied their 
steeds, and as they retreat to the west the disap- 
pointed fiends grumble in» hoarse notes. Now it grows 
lighter, and steps are quickened and ranks formed, 
and lowered eyes seek to peer into shadowed faces. 
Anon the east is discernible, and along upon the 
right hand of the wearied marchers are seen the 
sparks blown from the picket-fires of an invading 
host. Hist ! Speak low ; they are sleeping, and 
dreaming of an easy prey at daylight, but do not 
dream that three thousand stanch but weary foemen 
are passing so near their place of rest to defeat their 
hopes. A low challenge is heard, an answer, and an 
acquiescent “All right,” and a moment later they are 
inside the works. Another moment and the general 
wishes to give an order, but peers along the line to 
find his men asleep — some with their limbs in pools 
of water, some with their heads reposing on a com- 
rade’s breast, some with musket yet clutched in their 
hands and their backs resting against the clay works. 
As they ceased to move they fell asleep. Utterly 
worn out, they had moved as a machine, and when 
the motive power of discipline was withdrawn the 
moving body sank to rest. 

“ Poor fellows !” said the general to Cadogan, “ they 
have won, and deserve softer beds.” 

“ Sweeter sleep than theirs is not given to men,” 
said Cadogan, quietly. 

“Gentlemen,” said the commandant of Franklin, “I 
cannot understand how you discovered my need. I 
telegraphed you at midnight, but did not expect relief 
until to-morrow night. We have in some way been 
betrayed and our numbers ascertained. In addition. 


5 ^ 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


the enemy appear to know the location of our maga- 
zine, and shells have been thrown so accurately as to 
nearly explode them. But come, before you rest you 
will breakfast at my tent. General, shall I also invite 
your soldier-friend here ?” — pointing to Cadogan. 

“ You will please me much by so doing,” said the 
general. “ I will say at once that the promptness of 
your re-enforcement may be attributed to his superior 
sagacity, and I wish his further advice.” 

The general bowed to Cadogan’s military salute 
and led the way to his tent. It was a merry party to 
which they were added at the general’s tent. All 
fear of attack was done away and vanished as the 
mists arose before the April sun. Surprise had failed, 
and the sleeping regiments inside the works were a 
guarantee of safety. Stories of the mad race through 
the darkness evoked laugh and jest and song, while 
the soldier-attendants loaded the mess-table with food 
and drink. 

‘‘ And here is a guest who will appreciate the prompt 
relief you brought us,” said the commanding officer, 
as he pointed to a stalwart officer in a major’s uni- 
form. “ Major Clayton, gentlemen, who has been 
here for a week on inspection duty from Rosecrans’s 
head-quarters.” 

“ Happy to know you, gentlemen,” said the cour- 
teous major. “ I found the works in splendid condi- 
tion and the 7norale of the camp in a good and healthy 
state, and I so reported to General Rosecrans.” 

“ Rather a fine move, too, major, this night march,” 
said the happy commandant. 

“ Splendid ; never a better. And how the Triune peo- 
ple knew your need is a mystery to me,” said the major. 

“ It must have been intuitive,” said the command- 


AJVD IN UNIFORM, 


57 


ant; “ and, by the way, there must have been intuitive 
knowledge on the part of the enemy also, for they ap- 
pear to know we have no ammunition for the Robinet 
battery of 32 's, and drop shells into our magazine at 
the depot as if they had measured the distance with 
a chain.” 

“ Oh, it is good guessing, no doubt,” said the strange 
major; “ but now, gentlemen, let us drink confusion to 
our country’s enemies and success to all patriots.” 

“ We can all drink that without any misgivings,” 
said the general, “ for we can define our country as 
the whole Union, and a patriot as one who loves the 
whole broad continent.” 

“ Even so,” said the buoyant major; “let every man 
define the toast in his own way.” 

“ Stop !” said a ringing voice, and turning, they saw 
the slim form of Cadogan erected with excitement. 
“ Stop; please do not add humiliation to accepted 
treachery. Pour out the wine from your glasses.” 

“Who is this private soldier who dares to interrupt of- 
ficers at their meals T' asked the commandant, angrily. 

“ Who I am matters not; what I am may mean much. 
I am a lover of mankind and one who believes this war 
to be a tidal wave of righteous advancement. I am 
not even a patriot, for I have no country. General, 
have out instantly from the tent all men but the com- 
mandant, yonder major, and myself,” said Cadogan, 
with determination. 

With a motion of his hand the general dismissed 
the subordinate officers, and then looked inquiringly 
at his humble follower. Cadogan strode forward, 
and looking into the major’s face, said: 

“ When it involved only my own life and honor I 
stood 'between you and death. Is it so?” 


58 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

The major paled perceptibly and his whole form 
shrank with horror, but he made no answer. Cado- 
gan continued, while the awe-struck generals studied 
his animated face: 

‘‘ When only my miserable life was at stake, and I 
saw in you the promptings of a holy affection, I laid 
my life in the balance and offered it to be the shame- 
ful price of your safety. Will you answer me ?” 

Still no answer, but the lips grew ashen and the 
eyes seemed to actually recede, while the face grew 
old with horror. As dying persons clutch and toy 
with clothing on the couch, so the major's fingers 
tremulously fretted at the edges of his garments. 
Cadogan’s voice grew stern. 

“ But my forbearance then involved no principle, it 
threatened no danger to an army. Not so now. Oh, 
not so, and you must die at my hand.” He waited 
for an answer. “ You will not speak. You trust in a 
forged order from General Rosecrans. You trust in 
your carefully selected uniform, even from stocking 
to cravat — all is perfect. Fool, why did you forget 
that on your sword-hilt the hand of affection had in- 
scribed the name of the giver and the name of the 
brave recipient?” 

The major’s lips trembled, and his hand involun- 
tarily sought and lifted the sword at his side. 

The commandant stepped forward, took the sword, 
and read aloud from its silver scabbard: 

COL. ROBERT JOHNSON, 

3D Tenn. Infantry, 

C. S. A. 

“ Give me your papers, please,” said the command- 
ant, in a low, firm voice. 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


59 


From the breast-pocket of his coat he drew a bundle 
of papers and tossed them on the table. They were 
plans of the works; accurate tables of guns in the 
works and their calibre, and the names of members of 
all the regiments in the camps of instruction about 
Nashville. 

Colonel Johnson was a brave man, and said now, in 
a firm voice: 

“You will allow me to write several letters, will 
you not ?” 

The commandant nodded his head, and turning to 
his desk, touched the Morse instrument which com- 
municated with Rosecrans at Murfreesboro. In a 
moment he sat down and wrote the answer as it 
ticked off the reply; then, without a word, he handed 
it to the general, and the general, without a word, 
handed it to the colonel. It read 

“ [General Order 56.] 

“Murfreesboro Tenn,, April — th, 1863. 

“General: Drumhead court-martial and execute instantly. 
Platoon firing. Rosecrans.” 

“ Am I forgiven ?“ asked Cadogan, as he stood in 
front of Colonel Johnson. 

“ Freely,” said the brave man. “It is the fortune of 
war, and to be shot is a privilege and honor I did not 
expect. Rosecrans is a gentleman. Farewell.” 

When, an hour later, the rolling fire of a platoon 
sounded across the camp, Cadogan put his hands to 
his ears and moaned. 


6o 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


CHAPTER IX 

LOST. 

npHROW out flankers on each side of the ad- 
^ vance at about three hundred paces,” said 
the general. “ VVe will march in a leisurely manner, 
and it is possible we may collide with General For- 
rests’s rear-guard, or run against a squad of guer- 
rillas.” 

The detachment from Triune was on its return. 
The desultory firing and discouraged assault of the 
rebel troops had ended in a sulky retreat, amid the 
cheers of the forces at Franklin. To find a besieged 
fortification re-enforced with a brigade of infantry 
during the night was such a surprise that the attack 
was hastily turned into a retreat, and the relieving 
forces, after a brief rest and the issue of needed shoes 
and garments, were on their way back to camp — 
marching at rout step, with muskets carried at all 
angles and in all ways, slung by the strap or trailed 
as a hunter would carry them. The general, now 
mounted, through the courtesy of a brother-officer, 
rode at the head of his troops with a small but active 
advance-guard and the little body of flankers of which 
he had spoken. Smoking a fine cigar and watching 
the alternations of sun and shade in the beautiful 
open forest, the general was happy. Songs of birds 
vied with the whistled notes of the happy soldiers or 
the rollicking song of some comrade who, in better 
times, might have charmed an audience of cultivated 


IN UNIFORM. 


6 


listeners with his fine tenor voice. Such a day in 
April, with Tennessee sunshine and forest odors about 
one, made the soldier life one of perfect joy. Ab- 
sence of danger added to the keen pleasure, as a re- 
bound from the anxiety and strain of previous hours. 
Such a life is always a feast or a famine, a festival or a 
fight, and this golden day was one of the days of joy. 
Cadogan was one of the flankers on the right of the 
little army, and with his half-dozen companions he 
maintained the required distance from the main body 
by an occasional view of the long blue line through 
the trees, or where the brush was too dense for vision 
he could by sound tell how far away they were. 
Flanking was difficult duty. To press into almost 
impenetrable thickets, to climb over rugged hills and 
sunken logs at break-neck speed and keep up with 
troops moving along a path in a body, was desperate 
work, but on the integrity of the flankers depended the 
safety of the happy main body swinging along three 
hundred yards away. No ambuscade would be pos- 
sible, and no concealed artillery could send grape and 
canister through their ranks, if advance-guard and 
flankers were attentive to duty. 

So the day wore on, and already the openings in 
the forest and the occasional farm-house told the men 
that they were nearing their own camp at Triune. A 
song of greeting familiar to all old soldiers in the 
Fourteenth Army Corps was started. A ridiculous, 
meaningless song, and yet it was roared out by a 
thousand voices when returning to camp after Mill 
Springs battle. It was swelled into a sad wail after 
Perryville, and it was a chant of misery after Chicka- 
mauga. It rolled down the steep sides of Mission 
Ridge. Now, when almost returned to camp, a voice 


62 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


away up near the head of the column said, in a 
strong, resonant tone : 

“There was an old fisherman lived up North,” 
and a thousand voices howled in response : 

“ Ring-dang, ring-dang, hoo-de-la-la-da.” 

But as the great chorus rolled out, a sharp, tearing 
volley of musketry stilled the merry voices. It came 
from the flankers on the right hand of the line. No 
word of command was spoken, but every soldier 
dropped into his place as you have seen a chain 
straighten its links under tension. No man looked 
to his neighbor, but every man looked to the condi- 
tion of his musket. Some careful old veterans cocked 
them, and calmly blew down the muzzle to see if 
they were clear. Others lifted forward on their hips 
the cartridge-boxes, ready for action. This is the 
result of discipline and experience, and nothing else 
can make a perfect soldier. 

The flankers came back toward the main body, fall- 
ing back from tree to tree, until so near that an offi- 
cer called out : “ Who fired ?” 

Bushwhackers,” sententiously responded the old 
sergeant, as he peered into the forest. 

The officer asked, again : “ How many ?” 

‘‘ Half a dozen, dismounted, and horses waiting 
further back,” responded the sergeant. 

“Any one hurt?” asked the officer. 

“No, I guess not; but say, where’s Cadogan ? Did 
any of you see him after the volley ?” cried the ser- 
geant. 

The men shook their heads. 

“ Go back and look for him, and we will send a 


AJVn IN UNIFORM. 63 

company to support you,” said the general, who had 
approached. 

After an hour’s search and a weary waiting, to in- 
quire down the line if he. had come in at some other 
point, the general was forced to give up the search 
and march into camp, with the comforting thought 
that probably Cadogan had already made his way to 
camp. 

But he had not. He had received the bullet of a 
Spencer carbine fairly in the breast. He had felt the 
outgush of breath and the awful struggle to once 
more inhale the expelled air, which follows a wound 
in the breast. He had felt for just an instant a warm 
tide of blood run down his breast, then a whirl- 
ing of the brain, a dropping of the chin, and a clutch- 
ing at the leaves; and at last blessed forgetfulness, or 
death, for they are one and the same. 

He had been far in advance on the brink of a ravine, 
peering down into its depths, when the shot struck, 
and he had pitched forward — slipping, sliding, a dead, 
inert, sagging mass — until he rested under a bush of 

cedar, with his feet in the stream and his head in a 

* 

mass of dead leaves on the margin. 

This was a complete specimen of partisan warfare — 
a coward’s shot, a coward’s flight — a murder. 

Cadogan is on the border-land now. He feels the 
rising and falling of his feet in the water. He catches 
the whir of wings in the intense silence. Is he alive 
or dead ? 

“It seems des laik dey’s gwine to be de disexperi- 
ence ob fo’ right smart fiel’-han’s.” 

It seemed all right to Cadogan that a group of 
negroes should be passing down the ravine to Triune. 
Nothing was strange in his present condition. 


64 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


“Yass; but I un’stan’ dat if you gwine folly dem 
Yankees off you boun’ to cook, an’ tote water, an’ 
tote all de fryin’-pans fur de sojers.” 

Another voice took it up. - 

“ Dass wot Cogan’s Pete said. You-alls kin git fo’ 
bits an’ yo’ rations if you dig groun’ on de earth- 
works down to Nashville.” 

“ Huh, ’tain’t no use. Dis nigger gwine to ’list in 
de foot-sojers. Dey been a man up to ’Verne, he say 
dat we-alls kin git a bounty an’ sixteen dollahs a 
mont’.” 

“ Dass right peert; an’ wot did I say ? — dey’s gwine 
to be de disexperience ob some vallable fiel’-han’s.” 

And then Cadogan heard the patting familiar in 
the camps and the sweet, sad refrain, since national 
in its charms. A voice started in a high key: 

“Oh, far’well, me lady, 

I kin no longer stay; 

I gwine down to Charleston, 

All at de broke ob day.” 

Kilt it Stopped suddenly, and the singer ejaculated: 

Fo’ de Lawd, look under dat cedar-bush,” 

“I could sw’ar to dat piece ob work,” said another 
voice. “ If Marse Rob Peyton ain' been here den I 
ain’ a sinner.” 

‘PDead as a poun’ ob nails,” said another, as he 
peered into the pallid face. 

“’N’ got a watch,” ejaculated another, in a tone of 
delight, as he loosened the chain and put them both 
in his own pocket- 

“’N’ a right peert cap, by hokey!” said the first 
one, picking it up. 

By this time the pockets of the limp and pallid 


AJVn IN UNIFORM. 


65 


soldier were turned inside out and his blouse loosened 
gently from his arms. He was dragged from the 
stream, and his shoes were taken off. Cadogan found 
no fault with this, but in a dreamy way he reasoned, 
that if any of his belongings could make these black 
strangers happy they were welcome to them; but he 
heard a sharp cry of dismay and felt that he was in- 
stantly left alone. Had his comrades come back and 
found him ? He hoped so, and listened. He heard 
one awe-struck word: “Voodoo!” 

And his shoes were replaced on his feet. His 
blouse was drawn rapidly over his shoulders. He 
felt some hand replace his watch in his pocket, and 
everything as it had been. A gentle hand opened his 
shirt and placed a bandage on the gaping wound. 
He dreamily heard the rough voices reverently speak 
the name of “ Miss Myra,” and then the pain sent him 
again into complete unconsciousness. After a time, 
he did not know how long, he felt cool water poured 
on his face, and, sick and faint, he dimly remarked to 
himself on the swaying motion, which indicated that 
strong arms were bearing him on a litter made of 
green poles, and in that merciful contentment which 
nature furnishes to the wounded unto death he 
listened to the conversation of his bearers. 

“ ’Tain’t no use to tek dis man down to de big 
house. Golly, he git cotched so spry dat he ain’ 
know whar he am.” 

“ Dat true, Sam, an’ whar, den, you-alls gwine tek 
him ?” 

“We boun’ to tek car’ on him someways, w’en he 
got dat wuk ob Miss Myra’s on ’im. Mon, I wouldn’ 
leff dat man out in de bresh for a smoke-house full 
ob money.” 


66 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

“Dass wot I said; ’n’ now, wot you gwine do wid 
’im 

“ Bar’s Hugh Mallon, he is one ob dem low down 
w’ite trash ’n’ doan go in fur de Confederacy. Marse 
Rob Peyton, he say Mallon was a Union man, an’ 
boun’ ter git burned out one ob dese days.” 

“Ya, ya ; it seems ter me des laik dese Union 
sojers mek demselves at home here an’ gwine ter 
stay, and Marse Rob an’ his hoss-sojers got all dey 
kin do te^ keep in de bresh an’ git cawn-dodgers 
enough ter keep deir ribs from raspin’ on deir back- 
bones.” 

Hugh Mallon boun’ ter keep dis yer chap, an’ 
hide ’im up till he dies or gits well. Less tek ’im 
ober to de ole man’s.” 

“ If we had erbout a pig’s eye full ob cawn whisky 
ter give dis chap. Mon, whar’s dat gode wot you 
had ?” And so the loquacious but tender-hearted 
negroes bore him along. The day was drawing to a 
close when he awoke for a moment and opened his 
eyes. He was in a clean, pleasant room, where the 
setting sun shone in at a western window. He took 
note of the white curtains lifted by the breeze, the 
rough joists over his head, the uneven floor, and the 
cheap prints on the walls. He saw the group of 
colored men at the door, waiting, caps in hand. He 
saw the face of an elderly man looking down at him 
with a look of pity. By a downward glance of his 
eye he found that he was lying on a bed in a recess 
of the main room of the log farm-house, with the cur- 
tains of calico gathered back at the corners of the 
bed. This, then, was the house of Hugh Mallon, the 
poor white who was mistrusted because he owned no 
slaves and loved the Union. All this passed through 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


67 


his fevered brain, and he was about to give up all 
thought, with a sigh, and relinquish himself to sleep, 
when another step aroused him, and he met the open, 
fearless gaze of a pair of marvellous blue eyes, moist 
with pity, fixed upon him. No cry of nervous fear 
greeted his ears. 

Lucy Mallon knew not the meaning of the word 
nervous. She was the perfect product of that perfect 
clime. Tall, fair, golden-haired, and white as a lily, 
her dimpled hand was as strong as a man’s. As she 
bent over the wounded soldier her lips parted with a 
look of interest, and she laid her hand On his damp, 
cold forehead and brushed away the clustering ring- 
lets. With a sigh of perfect trust Cadogan sank into 
sleep. Here was the Eve, fresh from God’s hand, to 
bring into man’s life the needed graces to satisfy all 
his longings. 

Woman — the helpmeet, the mother in instinct, the 
sister in consolation, the realization of Whitman’s one 
immortal sentence : 

“ The justified mother of men/’ 

the type to which the race is struggling back, the Jael 
of the future, able to love like a daughter of God and 
protect her honor like an archangel. Here, trembling 
on the verge of that mystery to whicli his life had 
been devoted, wandering in delirium, sinking at times 
into deadly stupor, and anon shouting a war-cry or 
singing at the camp-fire remembered songs, Cadogan 
was a helpless, unconscious patient in those strong 
hands, and was lost to comrades and friends, who 
supposed his body to be lying in some secluded spot 
in the forest. 


68 


A rillLOSOPHEK IN LOVE 


CHAPTER X. 

RIVALS. 

“ If dar’s a place in all de Ian’ 

Whar I would radder be-e-e, 

Oh, heah’s me heart and heah’s me han’. 

To stay by Tennessee-e-e-e; 

O, O Tennessee-e-e-e.” 

ii QTOP that noise, Sam,” said a melodious voice 
^ behind the singer. Sam, the brawny colored 
man, was striding along, hat in hand, in front of a 
powerful black horse on which Addie Johnson was 
riding. It had need to be a rapid horse to weary Sam 
on a Country road or a forest-path. Barefooted, bare- 
headed, and clad in only two linsey-woolsey garments 
— a shirt and trousers — he trotted over stones and 
roots, jumped troublesome mud-puddles and soft 
spots in the swamps, and never ceased to roll out a 
volume of melody which filled the forest with echoes. 
The great horse behind was sweating along over the 
uneven path, and seemed envious of the springy, un- 
burdened servant who preceded him. Miss Addie 
was habited in her richest riding-garb. Her hat with 
plumes, and her long skirt of rich cloth, while a long 
veil, to avoid the troublesome boughs of trees, was 
tied across her forehead and knotted loosely behind 
her head. Her gloved hands toyed with a jeweled 
whip, and often a look of anger implied that if she 
had been in reach the melodious song of her advance 
guard would have been stopped by the lash. In Ten- 
nessee no such embargo had been enforced as that 


A Am IN UNIFORM. 


69 


which, in the remote South, deprived the ladies of 
needed clothing or more desired but superfluous 
adornment. Nashville was not far away, and Louis- 
ville, Ky., scarcely knew a cessation of its trade dur- 
ing the war. Hence, the ladies on the border were 
able to appear in customary finery until peace 
brought comfort once more to all. The arrogant 
beauty again spoke in angry tones to Sam : ‘‘ Stop 
that noise.” 

Sam, with a comical grin, turned and remarked : 
“ Dat’s music. Miss Addie, dat ain’ noise. Wha’ fur 
mus’ I stop it*?” 

“ Because you may get a bullet in you if you do not 
stop. We are somewhere near the picket-line, and if 
Forrest’s men are not around, certainly Colonel 
Brownlow’s cavalry may be posted near here and give 
you a shot. ” 

“Ya, ya; you didn’ know dat Cogan’s Pete and 
Colonel Yell’s niggahsand myself gwine jine de army. 
Lordy, befor’ I would be afraid ” 

Bang ! went a twelve pounder in the camp, and a 
shell, with its melancholy scream, flew over the woods 
and exploded, with a dull crash, in the woods beyond 
the Harpeth River. Sam had dropped to the ground 
instantly and ran his head close up among the spread- 
ing roots of a giant oak. Almost choking with laugh- 
ter, Addie rode up and said, “ Sam.” 

The answer was a sigh of horror. Again she called, 
‘‘ Sam.” 

He shuddered, but would not look up. Bending 
forward in the saddle, she selected a soft and tender 
spot and brought the lash down upon it with force. 
Sam understood this better than artillery, for he wel- 
comed the tingling sensation with a sigh of satisfac- 


70 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


tion, and turned over and sat up. But his face was 
of an ashy-blue color, and he said, tremblingly: 

‘^Is de engagement ober? Is you alive. Miss Addie?” 

“ Get up, you black rascal. There is no engage- 
ment. The battery af Triune is practicing and test- 
ing shells. A nice soldier you would make.” 

“ Dat’s all rights Miss Addie, but dey begun on de 
wrong lesson fur dis niggah.” 

“Wrong lesson ? What do you mean? You are a 
coward, that’s all.” 

“ Bar’s whar you gwine tree de wrong coon, Miss 
Addie. I ain’ no coward, but I done got de wrong 
lesson in military tictacs.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ I was gwine jine de infantry fust. Doan’ you 
know wot a infant is ?” 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

Well, dass wot I said. I gwine jine de infantry 
an’ learn to shoot a leetle revolver fust, an’ den, w’en 
I got mo’ expeunce, den I gwine shoot a musket, an’ 
in about a yeah den I gwine ter shoot a cannon. Dass 
wot I said, but, by golly, w’en you open on a infant 
wid a cannon, den you boun’ ter begin on de wrong 
end of his expeunce. Golly, I ain’ afraid, I’s only 
surprised.” 

A silvery laugh from the crimson lips of his young 
mistress greeted his ingenious explanation, and she 
said : 

“Well, get up, then, and lead the way to Mallon’s, 
if you are not too badly frightened.” 

“ Ob case I will. I ain’ afraid. I was only jess a- 
sayin’ dat it ain’ no decent cotillion whar dey puts de 
‘break-down’ ahead ob de ‘salute yer partners.’” 

But the song was gone out of his heart, and he 


AA'n IN UNIFORM. 


7 


limped along as if he had really been wounded. He 
kept one eye apprehensively turned upward, as if by 
due precaution he could avoid all danger from erratic 
shells. At last, Addie said : “ Sam, what made you 
take the wounded soldier to Hugh Mallon’s ?” 

‘‘ Whar would we tek him ?” asked Sam. 

“ Why, to any house near by. To my house, for in- 
stance.” 

“ Huh !” said Sam. 

“ What do you mean by that ?” asked Addie, angrily. 

“Wouldn’ you-alls radder see a Union sojer 
wounded den not? Hugh Mallon is a Union man,” 
said Sam. 

“Union man ! .You colored people seem to know 
all about it, and give all your allegiance to the mer- 
cenaries from the North. Why, Sam, it is heartless. 
These men have been your masters all your lives,” 
said Addie. 

“ Dat’s wot’s de matter,” said Sam, sententiously. 

“ Now, where did you get that slang expression ? 
What is the matter ?” said Addie. 

“ Dey been our marsters too long, an’ de sojers 
down to Triune sing, ‘ An’ dat’s wot’s de matter,’ ” and 
Sam tried the new song. 

“Ungrateful scoundrels! Never mind, you just 
attend to your business and lead me to Hugh Mal- 
lon’s,” said Addie. 

“ Dat won’t be a long job, for dar it am, right ober 
» on de sMe hill beyond de branch, an’ I ain’ sorry dat 
we got here; an’ I would hurry up if I’s you, an’ git 
away ’fore dark. Dey may want to practice dem can- 
non an’ t’ings by moonlight. Dey ain’ no knowin’ 
what dey'll do next,’' and Sam held the stirrup while 
Addie sprang to the ground in front of the humble 


72 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


dwelling, and then Sam walked the horse up and down 
in front of the house. 

Lucy Mallon, the Juno-like maiden, met Addie 
Johnson in the door. The one a type of unsophisti- 
cated natural grace. The other a type of a civilization 
as grand and unique as the century flower, of which 
it might be a type. Only a century of such an 
existence as comes from the perfect ease and luxury 
as is enjoyed by the class which controls slaves and 
bondmen. The custom of absolute rule gives a proud 
poise to the head. Generations of restfulness and 
only sportive exercise round the form evenly, without 
the harsh exuberance of muscle coming from toil. 
The dark eyes assume a liquid depth and the flash of 
an easily roused passion. The type is extinct on 
earth, and will never be produced again. Perhaps 
the climate may have done something toward the 
production of this tropical fruit. The life of one is the 
pure, deep existence of flashing fountains; the other 
is the gleam of wine in ruby goblets. The voice of 
one is the haunting cry of the Northern thrush; the 
other, the passionate call of the mocking bird. They 
faced each other for a moment, and, woman-like, no 
detail of dress or feature escaped the seemingly casual 
scrutiny. The prestige of a hundred years placed 
Addie in a position to command. Generations of 
honest toil put the fair maiden in her own house in 
the position of a subordinate. 

I am Miss Addie, of the great house,’' said the 
visitor. 

“I had supposed so,‘’ said Lucy. “Will you be 
seated ?” 

“ No, thank you,” said Addie; “ you have a wounded 
soldier here.” 


A ATI) /AT uniform. 


73 


“ Yes, a wounded Union soldier,” said Lucy, with 
the emphasis of surprise. 

“ Of course I would find no other nursed beneath 
your father’s roof,” said Addie, bitterly. 

“And so I am the more astonished at your call,” 
said Lucy, with womanly tact turning the sword in 
the wound. 

Addie looked surprised. Here was a beautiful girl, 
and one who could talk with much point and effect. 
She would study her. So she said, again: 

“ This soldier, Cadogan by name, has proved him- 
self a hero. He is a gentleman, also. He, in an emer- 
gency, saved the life of my brother, and when I learned 
from my servants that he was at your home, wounded, 
I came over to offer my assistance. War does not 
entirely obliterate the obligations of humanity. I can 
offer him a home in my house for a time, or assist him 
in any way,” but in spite of her self-possession a hot 
blush covered her cheek as she concluded her speech. 

“ He is in no condition to be moved now; and if 
he were, he is welcome to a home here,” said Lucy, 
calmly. “ Perhaps you would like to see him.” 

Addie nodded her head affirmatively, and, to her 
surprise, her hostess turned about and drew back the 
chintz curtains from the recess in the room. As a 
withdrawn curtain reveals a picture, so now Addie 
stood with bated breath and pale cheek, and looked.. 
This was not the soldier she knew. His dark locks, 
were spread on the pillow and his thin lips were; 
drawn back from the teeth. His heavy, drooping 
mustache made more pallid the cheek beneath. One: 
thin, transparent hand was outside the snowy coun- 
terpane, and twitched in every muscle with the weak- 
ners of approaching death. 


74 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Involuntarily Addie dropped on her knees beside 
the couch and took his hand. Slowly the eyes opened 
and gazed long and fixedly at the eager face. Then 
a look of pain played over the features, and the lips 
essayed to speak. 

“It is the face that troubled me — the face that was 
a cloud between me and the light.” 

Addie bent nearer and said: “It is I, Addie. Do 
you know me ?” 

Cadogan closed his eyes a moment, and seemed to 
be trying to recall something which baffled his vreak 
attempts. 

“ What is it ?” asked Addie. 

“ Where is the other face ? — the face which calmed 
me and made it seem easy to climb those awful 
heights. Where is the soft, strong hand that drew me 
up, instead of down ?” 

A rustle of garments causes the weak eyes to turn 
aside for a moment, and then Lucy’s glad, pure face 
comes into the circle of his vision. He sighs, his lips 
wreath themselves into a smile, and as Lucy's hand 
touches his damp brow he sinks into a calm, deep 
sleep. Addie rises to her feet with a baleful light in 
her eyes. She scans Lucy from head to foot as she 
draws on her gloves, but she says no word. With a 
gliding step she reaches the door, and turns to look 
once more on the scene. Then she grasps the reins 
on her horse’s back, and at one motion reaches the 
saddle, turns the impatient horse, and strikes him 
with her whip. A snort of rage is heard, the dirt is 
spurned by the iron feet, and under the forest-arches 
only a clatter of flying hoofs is heard as she disap- 
pears. Sam has not yet replaced his hat, and with the 
disengaged hand he scratches his head and ejaculates: 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


75 


“ Lordy, ef dat ain’t des laik de ole colonel w’en he 
done got bu’sted on fo’ kings, at Nashville, an’ I tried 
to keep up wid ’im w’en he started fur Triune. Dass 
wot I said. Dis niggah gwine home across-lots, an’, 
chillen, I’s a-gwine lively, too,” and he struck a lope 
peculiar to himself and started for the Johnson 
plantation. 


CHAPTER XI. 

MYRA. 

I N the wide-open window of the parlor at the great 
house Addie Johnson stood and pondered. A 
scowl was on the beautiful brow, and a fierce look 
curved the red lips. Anon she turned and walked 
across the floor with a hurried step. An observer 
could not fail to remark the similarity between the 
sleek, beautiful woman and a caged leopardess. There 
was the same beautiful, springy step, the same glid- 
ing motion, and the same impatient turning at the 
boundaries of the cage. Shall we carry the figure 
farther, and speak of the lambent gleam of the bright 
eyes ? At last she approached the window, and saw 
coming up the long avenue the form oCthe mysteri- 
ous voodoo woman; Myra. Instantly Addie stopped 
in surprise,- and said: 

“What brings Myra here ? I never saw her at the 
big house before.” 

When she heard a timid knock at the door, she 
threw it open and stood expectantly waiting for her 
message. Myra was now clad in a different garb 
from that which she wore at her own cabin. The 


7(5 


A rilll.OSOl'JlER IN I.OVR 


turban of gay silk was discarded, and Addie noticed, 
with interest, that her hair was only slightly wavy 
and of a most beautiful and luxuriant growth, while 
her forehead was prominent and had not the slanting 
form of the negro. Her tall form was now clad in a 
rich mantle of dark silk, and as she stood in her young 
mistress’s presence and clasped her hands, Addie ob- 
served a flashing diamond on one taper hand. She 
waited respectfully for an invitation to be seated. 
Addie studied her face for a long time. At last she 
said: ‘‘ Be seated, Myra.’"’ 

“I come,” said Myra, “to ask you if I might have 
some conversation with you.” 

She spoke in such carefully selected terms, and 
used such diction, that Addie forgot her question and 
only studied her face. Myra appeared uneasy under 
the close scrutiny and repeated her question. 

“ Is it about the voodoo charm ?” asked Addie. 

“It is,” Myra said. 

“Then I can tell you, briefly, it failed,” said Addie, 
angrily. 

“ It has not failed. It will work; but I come to ask 
you to forget this man. Nothing but unhappiness 
can come of this love. I have studied him and 
watched him when he thought himself unobserved. 
I have heard of him through the field-hands. I have 
heard of him from you. Miss Addie, and I tell you to 
let him alone,” said Myra, anxiously. 

“You are making yourself excessively free, for a 
servant; but I opened the door of familiarity, so I say 
nothing of that,” said Addie. “ But why must I leave 
him alone ?” 

“ Because he is too powerful for us. If you ask me 
to sully a brook, with one sweep of my hand I can 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


77 


make its waters turbid; but if you bid me soil the 
clear tide of a river, I can do nothing. This man is a 
river of power. I have seen him counting the stars. 
I have seen him at night call the birds amid the dark- 
ness and talk their language. Dumb beasts come at 
his call and tremble in his presence. He is a king 
among men. Common men are led by their passions. 
This man has made them his slaves, and they cower 
like curs at his feet. Oh, Miss Addie, I come to ask 
-you to give up this passion. If it lures a star to 
earth, it will only sink to your level to crush you,” 
and Myra leaned toward her mistress with extended 
hands. 

Addie rose to her feet, and said, in a harsh voice: 

“ It is because he is a king among men that I wish 
to rule over him. If conquest be difficult, then vic- 
tory will be sweet. What, would you have me lead 
the sodden brutes who crawl at my feet, and turn 
aside from the only pure, true man I ever knew ? No, 
Myra; if your charm fail, I will follow him with my 
only weapon — a woman’^ love.” 

“And what,” said Myra, thoughtfully, “has been 
the history of such a love? The hot gust of passion 
followed by the cold rain of repentant tears. After 
the drink at the oasis, the long, arid desert of shame- 
ful years. Oh, beware, Addie, beware!” 

“ Be it so, Myra. One hour of his love and then 
welcome death, welcome dishonor, welcome tears. I 
know the price — better than you know the tempestu- 
ous sea I call a heart,” and she stamped her foot with 
passion. 

Myra replied in a musing tone, 

“ There was a family of your name, once, that would 
have washed out an injury in oceans of blood. A 


78 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Sting of insult would have brought forth a deadly 
blow. But that family is gone.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Addie. “This Ca- 
dogan saved my brother’s life.” 

“And then took it again,” said Myra, scornfully. 

“You lie, base slave; Robert is not dead. He is 
with Forrest’s troops,” cried Addie. 

“ Read this,” said Myra; “one of the hands brought 
it from Franklin.” 

As if in a nightmare dream she calmly took the 
letter and read it a second time before its awful im- 
port seemed to be real, and then a shriek rang through 
the apartment and she became unconscious. 


Franklin, April —th, 1863. 

Dkar Sistkr: When you receive this I will be in eternity. I 
was taken as a spy. The man who saved iny life once, at 
Triune, denounced me at Franklin and caused my death. I 
harbor no enmity toward him. He is a true soldier, and that 
was a soldier’s duty. I have written at more length, and made 
proper disposal of my effects through Union officers, who 
have extended many courtesies to me. God bless you, is the 
prayer of Robert. 

“ It is harsh medicine, but she shall turn away from 
this fatal love,” said Myra, as she cared for her un- 
conscious mistress. She chafed her hands and 
sprinkled water in her face, and soon the powerful 
nature arose from the blast, as bending trees arise 
when tempests cease. When she looked around with 
a conscious gaze, she encountered the eyes of Myra, 
and asked: 

“ Was it true Robert is dead ?” 

“Mercifully, I answer, ‘Yes.’ Better that you 
should soon become accustomed to the truth. And 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


79 


now your love is turned to hate, is it not, and your 
hand will be turned toward revenge?” said Myra. 

Addie moaned and shook her head. 

“ It was the fate of war. Cadogan is a soldier.” 

“ Better you were dead than to follow blindly the 
leadings of such a love. Sit up and listen. I am 
about to turn loose upon you the vials of wrath from 
Heaven.” Addie shuddered as she looked into the 
face of the slave. A steely glitter was in her eyes, and 
the muscles of her face twitched convulsively. 

“Not now, not now!” cried Addie; “wait until I 
am strong.” 

“No; I will talk now. I will save you or never 
speak again. ^ What am I ? A slave. Let me tell my 
story and depart,” and Myra arose and commenced 
to pace the floor as she was wont to pace the limits of 
her cabin in her incantations. But her voice was not 
a mad song. It was intelligent speech. 

“Twenty-five years ago, in New Orleans, a wealthy 
creole family became bankrupt, and their slaves came 
to the block. Among them was a beautiful quadroon 
who had been reared as a member of the family. 

' Whether she had a right to claim a position under 
that roof or not, God only knows, but the fact was 
apparent that she had the same characteristics and 
features possessed by the rest f the faniily. No dis- 
tinction was made in educating the children, and the 
quadroon servant shared the life of the croole daugh- 
ters. When misfortune came, the planter had a guest 
from Tennessee — a noble, generous youth who sym- 
pathized with his friends in their downfall. One of 
those servants — the quadroon — never went to the 
block, but by arrangement with the creditors was sold 
to the young Tennesseean, and his kind act met the 


So 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


gratitude of the planter. When he came North he 
was accompanied by the quadroon, so dressed as to 
attract no attention, as his companion. He took her 
to his home, and she became a servant under the lady 
he called his wife. His acts of generosity and uni- 
form kindness had won the love of the quadroon, and 
she would have died for him.” 

Addie sat now on the carpet, with her hands clinched 
about her knees. She did not seem to breathe, and 
her face was like marble. 

“The quadroon loved with the love of her native 
clime. No heights were too great, no streams of dif- 
ference too broad, for such a love. It was a love like 
yours, Addie,” said Myra. 

“ Go on,” muttered Addie, hoarsely. 

“ There is not much more to such a story. The wife 
drove her out with curses, and her little girl was born 
in a cabin.” 

“ It was a girl, then ?” whispered Addie. 

“Yes, it was a beautiful girl; and when the wife 
died she came into the house and was reared with her 
brother, and became a lady; and when the colonel, 
her father, died ” 

“The colonel — oh, God help me!” Addie screamed 
in anguish. 

“Yes, Addie,” said Myra; “and I am your mother. 
Will you stop now on the verge of a mad, suicidal 
love ?” 

But shrieks resounded through the house. A mad 
rush of servants to the parlor followed, and the voo- 
doo woman stooped and pressed the first kiss on her 
child’s lips in twenty years. Then she turned and 
glided from the room. 


AN I? IN UNIFORiM. 


8j 


CHAPTER XII. 

WOODSON. 

A MONTH had passed slowly away to the wounded 
soldier. There had been the change from de- 
lirium to the curious phenomenon of grasping piece- 
meal the surroundings as presented to the clearing 
intelligence. Then the happy content of mere exist- 
ence in feeling the return of strength. The farmer at 
last lifted him from his bed to the padded splint chair. 
A week later he walked slowly along the hill-side by 
the side of Lucy Mallon. In the composition of his 
strange nature, perhaps no string had been placed 
which could vibrate to real passion. Perhaps orig- 
inally of a tempestuous nature, he had whipped the 
steeds of passion into submission, so as to put on an 
icy exterior at any time. I incline to the latter belief. 
His temperament was such that if possessed by or- 
dinary men, they would have been the slaves of pas- 
sion. As he walked now, beside one of the most 
beautiful women he had ever met, his voice was as 
calm as the call of a priest to a devotee. This is the 
more strange as Lucy Mallon was the kind of woman 
that would appeal most strongly to his nature. Him- 
self exquisitely refined, she had only the native graces 
of an Eve. Himself a life long student of human 
moods and passions, she knevr no more of man’s com- 
plex hopes and aspirations than a child. He capable 
of mastering every emotion, she like a placid stream 
rippled by every zephyr and reflecting every image 
on its polished surface. But very dangerous to such 


82 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


a woman is such a man — that is, dangerous to her 
peace of mind, for Cadogan would not have sullied 
the purest heart by even a suggestion of evil. 

They had stopped in front of a small natural cave 
near the house. Some convulsion of nature had 
moved the strata of limestone rock apart, and then an 
overlying rock had roofed the chasm, leaving no out- 
let or inlet through the solid rock only at the door. 
Cadogan had visited the little grotto before, and now 
he stood leaning on Lucy’s arm and looking into the 
sunlit door of the cave. 

If I had died I would like to have been buried 
here,” said Cadogan. 

“ I would have thought you would desire to be sent 
back to your friends,” said Lucy. 

‘‘I have no friends as you count friends. I have 
acquaintances in all parts of the world. I have com- 
rades in the army, but the world is my home, and 
mankind my friends,” and Cadogan said it with no 
tone of sentimental repining. 

“You are a strange man,” said the maiden, thought- 
fully. 

Cadogan did not heed the remark, but went on in 
a dreamy tone. 

“ There is a sort of dais of stone in the middle of 
the grotto. On that I would lie without a coffin. 
There is no damp in there, summer or winter. I 
would have an iron door fitted to this rocky entrance, 
and at the top, open grates. Here air and light could 
go in to my sweet resting-place. Will you remember 
all this, sometime, Lucy?” asked Cadogan. 

“Did I not know you to be returning to health and 
strength, I should call your talk delirious,” said Lucy. 

“Nevertheless, remember it. Think of the flat 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


83 


Stone dais, and the form wrapped and lying upon it; 
the iron door and the open grate. Think of the sweet 
autumn leaves blowing in and sailing about my royal 
bed, and in the springtime the odors of flowers and 
the songs of birds will be wafted in to me. Think of 



“I WOULD LIKE TO BE BURIED HERE.” 


me as penetrating the secrets which have been hidden 
from ages. Think of me wiser than all the wisdom of 
earth. That is what death is. Not a dread to the 
philosopher, but mine inn which welcomes me when 
the evening shadows fall. Lucy, remember my words, 
will you and he turned toward the house. 


84 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


“ I will remember them,” she said, and no feminine 
sob attested the wound in her tender heart. Slowly 
they wended their way to the house, and Cadogan 
continued : 

“ Lucy, you have been my comrade. No other tie 
can be as dear, and I offer no other. Ca^narader'ie 
means friendship, similarity of tastes, and the best 
love. I shall soon disappear from your home. Some 
great change awaits me. I have nothing to offer for 
your ministry to me but gratitude. May the God of 
the universe bless you, is my prayer,” and Cadogan 
pressed her hand. 

She made no answer, but when he had sunk upon 
his couch, she turned hastily and left the room. 

Cadogan slept. Through the open door came and 
went the droning bees. On one closed window an 
imprisoned fly poured out his griefs in a hoarse, ex- 
asperating buzz. Zephyrs came in at the door, lifted 
the white window-curtains, and rattled the prints 
nailed to the wall. The clock monopolized the whole 
acoustic properties of the room, and ticked as it some- 
times does in sick-rooms at midnight when we have 
never noticed before how loudly a clock can tick. It 
was a sweet, calm summer afternoon, and Cadogan 
slept. But he dreams a very bad dream. In that 
dream he scowls as he hears a very repulsive voice, 
and, as often happens, he awakes and finds that the 
repulsive voice is actually talking in the room. It 
says: 

“Yes, siree, Sam. I will see to it that you get a 
commission in that colored regiment as sergeant or 
corporal. I can do it, Sam.” 

“ Dass what I said, cappen. Den I boun’ ter ’list 
right away off, and you git de bounty and de pension 


AND IN UNIFORM. 85 

and de pay and bring dem to me, and we mek it all 
squar’.” 

“ Right you are, Sammy. Here, gimme a drink 
out of that canteen. And so, Sammy, here is where 
the bright partickler star glimmers, is it ? And she 
ain’t no high-flyer, but what you call white trash. 
By Jove, Sam, I don’t want any more first families 
with a whip in their hands.” 

“ Dass what I said. Miss Addie, she jess got de 
spunk, and you w*ant ter tech dat kind light, ur else 
de fedders fly.” 

“Well, this house seems to be deserted, Sam. Per- 
haps the bright partickler is away from home. Nice 
clean house, Sam, if it does belong to the white trash, 
as you call ’em. Say, by Jove, Sam, you black rascals 
would call me a poor white, too, up North.” 

“Well, cappen, you-alls got de ear-marks, and I 
powerful ’fraid ef it wasn’t fur de shoulder-straps we 
mout send you roun’ to de back do’ w’en de ball 
begin.” 

“ But them days is gone, Sam. ‘ Liberty and equal- 
ity and the pursuit of happiness,’ as Lafayette said at 
the battle 0/ Concord. Ah, here she comes ! Sam, 
set the canteen on the table and retire. When I want 
you I will whistle.” 

Cadogan lightly touched the curtaifis and looked 
out. As he suspected, it was Captain Woodson — 
Captain Woodson very drunk, too, and on a mission 
of love, piloted by Sam Johnson. 

Civil war is bad under all circumstances. A house 
divided grinds itself to ruin by mutual attrition. But 
add to civil war the necessity for giving commissions 
rapidly and without discrimination, to the butcher 
and baker and candle-stick maker, and you can read- 


86 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


ily account for the added horrors of American civil 
war. Men endowed with command who had never 
learned to command themselves. Men who regarded 
war as a long picnic and saturnalia of lust and intem- 
perance. Both armies had these men, and as long as 
they were efficient soldiers small crimes were readily 
condoned. Insulted womanhood, pilfered jewels, 
secret murders followed in the wake of license, until 
the brutal, swollen face of such an officer brought a 
thrill of horror to the hearts of unoffending citizens. 
Woodson was truly the Michael among these fallen 
angels. 

When Lucy Mallon came into the room and en- 
countered the flaming face, encircled with its aureole 
of sandy beard, she measured the scoundrel at a 
glance, as the parent bird knows the warning shadow 
of the hawk. She stopped at the door and panted 
with excitement. Then the woman’s instinct directed 
her eyes to the couch of the wounded soldier. Ca- 
dogan seemed asleep. She put her hand on her breast 
and waited. With a drunken leer Woodson took up 
the canteen and said: 

“Any occasion for this? Take a drink if you 
want it.” 

She said nothing, but looked steadily at the 
brute. 

Woodson staggered to the door and shut it. Then 
he sat down and smiled. It is fatal to such a man to 
smile. If they will only look fierce they have some 
advantages, but when such a man smiles he has preju- 
diced his case. He said, encouragingly; 

“ You had better make yourself agreeable. I am 
going to stay some time. I can make it agreeable for 
you or I can raise if you want me to.” 


AArn iM uMifOrm. 


^7 


Perhaps,” said Lucy, in a trembling tone, “ if you 
would state your errand I could give you an answer.” 

“ My errand don't need any statement,” said Wood- 
son, in a facetious tone. “ It is apparent on the sur- 
face. You are a devilish pretty girl if you are in the 
lower walks of life, and I am an officer in the United 
States Army and devilish susceptible.” 

“ If I get your meaning, sir, I am constrained to say 
that you are a scoundrel, and a reproach to the army 
and cause my father admires and loves. We are 
loyal to the Union, sir, and you should protect us 
instead of coming here to insult our weakness,” said 
Lucy. 

“ Eloquent, by Jove ! as well as pretty,” said the 
amorous captain; “and I always make it a point to 
kiss the ladies who love the Union,” and he arose and 
staggered toward her. 

“Stop!” cried Lucy Mallon, “you are making a 
mistake. If you think my poverty offers any im- 
munity to you for insult, you make a mortal mistake. 
I would rather die than suffer the weight of your 
finger to rest upon me. Your very breath is con- 
tamination.” 

With an oath he rushed forward with outstretched 
arms. But he stopped as suddenly as if paralyzed — 
stopped as if frozen in his tracks. There is a sound 
which a soldier never forgets. Years may elapse, and 
he may forget the commands of the leaders. Evolu- 
tions and manual all drift out of memory, but there 
is a sound meaning death. He never forgets it. The 
lock of the musket is so constructed that it gives out, 
in cocking, two sharp, metallic sounds — clicks click. 

It means death. On the side of the couch, with a 
musket across his lap, sat Cadogan, cool and calm, as 


88 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


if waiting for a meal. He never was excited. And 
the muzzle of the Springfield musket was within ten 
feet of the captain’s breast. He saw the bright 
copper percussion-cap beneath the uplifted hammer 
waiting only a touch of the thin, wan finger to 
hurl an ounce of lead through his drunken carcass. 
Coldly and unmoved, Cadogan said: “Sit down, Miss 
Mallon.” 

Then he continued, as she took her seat: 

“ Captain Woodson, kneel and ask her pardon.” 

Woodson tu;-ned red, then white, then blue; then he 
attempted to speak. 

“Not a word,” said Cadogan. “Kneel down and 
say, ‘Miss Mallon, I am sorry. Forgive me; I was 
drunk.’ ” Cadogan’s eye never wavered, but steadily 
he brought the musket to his shoulder. Woodson 
dropped upon his knees and mumbled the words he 
was bidden to say. Then he arose, and Cadogan 
said, abruptly, “ Get out ! Here, take your canteen 
and leave instantly !” 

When he was outside the door he turned to speak, 
but he was still looking down the dark perspective of 
a rifle-barrel, and he only lifted his finger and shook 
it as he moved away with a white face. If he had 
waited he would have seen the fainting soldier drop 
the hammer of the musket, and sink back on the 
couch again, saying, “I have now a mortal enemy;” 
and he would also have seen the fair Lucy sprinkle 
the pallid face of the wounded man, as he closed his 
eyes in a deadly faint. But he did not know it, and 
stalked back to camp cursing Sam and Cadogan and 
women in general, while Sam scratched his head and 
remarked: 

“ Dass jess one ob my fool tricks. I done clean 


AJVn IN UNIFORM. 89 

forgot about dat soldier. Gorramity, what I tell you 
’bout dat voodoo bisness ob Miss Myra’s ?” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FOREBODINGS. 

TT is the guard tent at Triune. It is a hot day in 
^ May. The guard tent is an old bell tent of the 
issue of 1862. Its frame is of two upright poles and 
a cross pole, and the tent-pins are pulled out and the 
curtain lifted and held up on tall stakes, so that what 
breeze stirs in camp may go through the sultry tent. 
The relief guard, which is off duty, is trying to kill 
time according to their several tastes. Four of them 
are seated in the straw, with a knapsack for a table, 
and they are gambling. It is no child’s game, either, 
in which they are engaged, for when a settlement 
takes place wallets are displayed containing large 
bunches of the green legal-tender notes of the Gov- 
ernment. Their faces are pale with the excitement 
of gaming, a pleasure like other exquisite pleasures 
which are akin to pain and pale the cheek with 
ecstasy. Other members of the guard love more 
moderate pleasures, and lying all abroad in the straw 
read some yellow-covered novel or worse book. The 
sergeant, in all the responsibility of three chevrons 
on his jacket-sleeve, sits alone with his back against 
a tree and a pipe in his mouth, and as he puffs slowly, 
considers the probable trouble he may have before 
night with drunken comrades and punctilious officers. 
The regular habituls of the guard tent, who would be 


90 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


called the rounders in a city court, are sleeping the 
sleep of the just in the shade of yonder tree, under the 
supervision of an alert sentinel. The camp rounder 
has a bloated form and a face fearfully and wonder- 
fully bruised in free fights. The drunken man who 
desires to fight in camp can be accommodated at a 
moment’s notice. There are phlegmatic men who 
get tired of the monotony of the camp and prowl 
around seeking the excitement of a fight. To such, 
a belligerent drunken man is a boon, and when the 
camp rounder is ushered into the guard tent he is 
adorned with all the styles of facial bruise known to 
pugilism, from the ordinary black eye to the elaborate 
split nose and jutting eyebrow. The guard tent was 
situated on the highest part of the camp. It over- 
looked the long rows of streets and the commissary 
stores, where a sentinel stood roasting in the Ten- 
nessee sun. Clear across might be seen the officers’ 
tents and the sutler’s store; also the hardly recog- 
nized chaplain’s tent, which attracted less attention 
in the camp than the church does in a modern city. 
The guard tent is the court of law, the bureau of 
protection, the municipal prison, the police office of 
the camp. 

“ Fall in the guard!” thus cried the sergeant. The 
pack of cards was thrust under the knapsack, and the 
pile of money was covered with a tin plate. The 
dime novels fluttered to the ground, and in half a 
minute the twenty men stood in line as if frozen 
there, and the sergeant cried, again : “Attention, 
guard — present, arms!” 

The guard presented arms, then shouldered arms, 
and ordered them, and all this for Captain Woodson, 
who was officer of the day and sober. When he 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


91 


saluted the guard and walked down the .*ne, resplen- 
dent in a crimson sash and epaulettes, it was evident 
that he was sober. No drunken man would have that 
cold, white line of anger around his lips. No drunken 
man would smile to himself and work his fingers in 
his yellow gauntlets as he did. No; Captain Wood- 
son for once was sober, and following him came an 
ambulance which stopped at the guard tent, and the 
captain seemed to gloat over something as he roared 
out: “Come, tumble out of that! You can walk fast 
enough!” 

And then the guard were astonished to see, climb- 
ing down the step of the ambulance, Cadogan, whom 
all supposed dead. 

“ Sergeant,” said Woodson, “ is there a pair of 
handcuffs in the guard tent ? This man is a deserter. 
i found him yesterday, and when I tried to arrest 
him he aimed a musket at me. Put the handcuffs 
on him and watch him closely.” 

To say that the guard were surprised would be a 
weak description of their astonishment. Cadogan, 
the coolest, bravest man in the regiment. He who 
was the soul of honor, the marvel of manly purity. 
He a deserter! 

“ Come, fly around and get the irons on him, will 
you?” cried Woodson. “You act as- if you were 
afraid of him.” 

Oh, no;* no one was afraid of Cadogan now. His 
eyes were sunken and had a hunted look. His form 
was emaciated, and his garments hung loosely upon 
him. His hands, like birds’ claws, clung to the iron 
hand-rail of the ambulance-step. No; they were not 
afraid — they were astonished. At last the handcuffs 
were produced, and Cadogan mechanically held up 


92 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


his hands and curiously watched the process of fitting 
them on, as though the hands belonged to some one 
else. 

Now, then, I leave him in your charge. If he tries 
to escape, knock him down with the butt of a musket, 
or shoot him. He is a bad customer, and I will in- 
dose any course of treatment.” 

Then Woodson saluted the guard and stalked away, 
and the ambulance returned to headquarters. The 
sergeant allowed the guard to stack arms, and then 
break ranks and return to their former amusements, 
but they did not seem to have a relish for them. 
They sedately filled their pipes and watched their 
new prisoner as he laid himself down on the straw of 
the guard tent. At last Cadogan looked up and 
asked, ‘‘ Can I see a comrade ?” 

“ Of course you can,” said the sergeant, ready to 
relieve his pent-up feelings of resentment in some 
way. 

“ Then I would like to see Campbell, of H Com- 
pany, immediately,” said Cadogan, faintly. 

“Well, you bet,” said one of the guards, as he 
sprung to his feet and hurried away. 

In a few moments the ringing step of the stalwart 
soldier was heard approaching, and a moment later a 
glad cry as he folded the slender form of Cadogan 
in his arms. 

“ I wish to have a long talk with Campbell,” said 
Cadogan ; “ but before we ask to have the tent to 
ourselves I would like to set myself right with my 
comrades.” 

He tore open his blouse and shirt and exposed his 
breast, where the blue wound of a bullet was seen. 
As yet the drawn filaments centred at one spot, as the 


AJVn IN UNIFORM. 


93 


threads of a spider’s web meet at a common centre. He 
pointed to this ghastly mark, yet unhealed, and said: 

“ All men desire to have their fellows think well of 
them; much more the soldier, whose stock in trade is 
courage. Captain Woodson has told you I am a 
deserter. You did not believe him. I am glad of 
that. But this wound will show you that I was shot 
in line of duty as we returned from Franklin, and 
since that time I have been cared for near the scene 
of action. No matter what happens, boys, remember 
me as at least an honorable man and soldier.” 

When they had filed out of the tent and the sides 
were let down, Campbell came and sat down in the 
straw, and Cadogan laid his head in his lap. He said, 
slowly: 

“ In all the lore of the past I find nothing so sweet 
as the tender words of David in lamentation over 
Jonathan. Somehow, I am calm with you; I am 
rested. You are my human side, Campbell. I grope 
on the borders of the infinite spaces and feel that I 
would rather be gone, and then I touch your strong 
human nature and cry, with David: H am distressed 
for thee, my brother Jonathan. Very pleasant hast 
thou been unto me. Thy love to me was wonderful 
— passing the love of women.’ Let me talk. I am 
close now to the curtain of mystery. I shall soon 
know what is beyond. Now I dream of Gallatin and 
our frosty tent. Now the yellow sunshine and muddy 
pools of Perryville, and the rank odors of wasting 
bodies under the hot sunshine. Now we are side by 
side as the January snows drift at Mill Springs. 
Anon I catch the rolling waves of song on the great 
march to Louisville. One blanket will never cover us 
again. I am distressed for thee, my brother.” 


94 


A rHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


“ You are not going to die, Cadogan,” said Camp- 
bell, smothering his sobs. 

“The bird which holds its steady flight three thou- 
sand miles across the ocean drops dead in the 
autumnal frosts. What avails my study in all lands ? 
What avails my abstinence and nights of watching ? 
What avails it that I have turned all the rivulets of 
hidden knowledge into the reservoir of my being ? 
My wing is weary and I droop. Campbell, I know 
you love me. You can say no more than that. Will 
you write these directions on the tablet of your 
memory, and when I am gone remember them word 
for word ?” 

“ I will,” whispered Campbell. 

“ Remember, then, and ask no questions. When I 
am dead, wash my body carefully and then bathe it in 
olive-oil. See that my groins are securely bound. 
Then carefully stop my nostrils and ears with wax. 
Next wrap my body in cotton cloth from head to foot. 
Over this sew my blanket with care. Then over this 
sew my rubber poncho^ so that no insect or vermin can 
reach my body. At the house of Hugh Mallon is a 
cave. Place me in that according to directions I have 
left there. Then leave my knapsack as it hangs now 
upon the wall, and when we meet in eternity you will 
receive my thanks. That is all.” 

“ But, Cadogan, why do you submit to this torture ? 
Why die ? You are no deserter; you are not muti- 
nous,” said Campbell. 

“ True,” said Cadogan; “but I did threaten the life 
of the brute Woodson for an attempted outrage on a 
lady. I am in his power. Even the general dare not 
interfere in a case of discipline of this kind. I have 
long contemplated this move, and if I could make you 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


95 


understand why I now prefer death I would give my 
reasons. On my body, when you lay it out, you will 
find a letter. Six months after I am gone read it. 
With almost divine powers I lie down voluntarily in 
death. Kiss me, Campbell, and I will call the general 
to my side.” 

It was a strange sight — the powerful man stooping 
to kiss the slender youth; but with a hand-grasp they 
parted, and the hurried preparation of the guard out- 
side denoted the approach of a superior officer. As 
Campbell passed out he saw the guard at salute, and 
the general with an angry stride approaching the 
tent. He put his hand to his cap and passed rapidly 
on to his tent and duty. 

When the general entered the guard tent he made 
an almost indistinguishable sign to Cadogan, who re- 
sponded in a harsh, guttural language none might 
understand. 

How came you here ?” asked the general. “ I had 
supposed you dead, or gone with some message for 
the brethren.” 

Cadogan bared his breast and pointed to his 
wound. 

“Ah!” said the general, in a kind tone; “but why 
did you not call me before ? I have longed for some 
communication.” 

“ Delirium, weakness, and now death will inter- 
vene,” said Cadogan. And he briefly recounted his 
story. 

“ But you will be cleared at the court-martial,” cried 
the general. 

“ No; I shall never reach a court-martial. Wood- 
son is adverse to me. Implacable, he will follow me 
to death.” 


96 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


‘‘ But I will put him under arrest. I will detail you 
to other duties,” said the general, eagerly. 

“ Too late. The gossamer threads of presentiment 
blow across my soul from the damp caverns of death. 
General, there is a deeper depth of theosophic lore 
than you have ever penetrated. I dare say no more. 
See, I have made a list of articles you may send to 
me to-night. Then allow Campbell to carry out my 
wishes to the letter. Farewell. If I have aught of 
need which you can supply I will call for you again. 
Tf not, we will meet in happier days.” 

“ Call for me at any time, if any undue rigor is 
used in your case. Captain Woodson is already 
under surveillance for neglect of duty and brutality,” 
and the general, making again the strange sign, 
turned reluctantly and left the tent. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


DISCIPLINE. 



HE scene depicted in this chapter one of the 


authors of this story saw and participated in. 
We flatter ourselves as a nation that we are on an 
“eminence, and glory covers us.” The “cat” as an 
instrument of torture is driven out of the navy. Flog- 
ging is not permitted in the army, and yet, in this last 
year of our Lord, 1888, desertions from our little 
standing army caused a loss to the Government of 
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. With the 
best ration accorded to any soldier in the world, with 
the highest pay and best clothing allowance, there is 


AJVJD IN UNIFORM. 


97 


not a regiment in any arm of our service, even in 
peace, that can be kept recruited up to its maximum 
number. You are startled. What do you say — no 
cavalry, or infantry, or artillery regiment with full 
ranks? Yes, exactly that; desertions nearly equal 
enlistments in all arms of the service. Poor material, 
you may guess. You know better. The material of 
which the storming parties of Vicksburg, and Mission 
Ridge, and Buena Vista, and Bunker Hill was made 
was good, and is good. Well, then, if the material of 
the army is good, it must be the severity of the service. 
Oh, no; the desertions are greater in peace than in 
war. Well, then, what is the cause of the inefficiency 
of the most expensive army in the world ? Discipline. 
Well, discipline is necessary. Yes; but there is no 
hell ornamented with so thick a door, or shut away 
across so impassable a gulf, as exists between the 
private soldier and any help from above. Flogging 
is not allowed. No ; but in the cemetery at Fort 
Ripley lie the bodies of three soldiers who died under 
punishment. Every military post has its tragic tale. 
Then there is something worse than flogging. Yes, a 
hundred-fold. There is the tying up by the thumbs. 
There is the spread-eagle, and I saw a man dead in 
that torture at Spring Hill, Tenn. There is the buck 
and gag. There is the weighted knapsack contain- 
ing a stone weighing sixty pounds, and I have seen a 
man rendered insane with that mild torture. Is there 
no redress ? Absolutely none. Show me the record 
of an appeal made by a private soldier, and show me 
the history of his redress. His charges against a 
superior must pass through the hands of the captain 
who wronged him, the colonel who allowed his cruel 
punishment, and the general who winked at the 


98 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


abuse. It never reaches the publicity of the outer 
and upper circle, and so the soldier dies or deserts. 
Buried under the straw of the guard-tent, ^and his 
record closed on the muster-roll with the words, 
‘‘ Died of disease;” or gashed by the sword of a 
drunken officer, and the record reads, “ Resisted ar- 
rest.” Nature hates a vacuum; she always also hates 
repletion, and will find relief and vent. Given no 
satisfaction from above, the army finds vent for its 
outrages in desertion. At Winchester, Va., a drunken 
officer ties a boy of nineteen up by the thumbs, and 
then goes to bed and forgets the suffering boy. A 
thunder-storm comes on. The boy hangs until next 
morning, forgotten, and is cut down an idiot and 
crippled for life. I could give the name of the officer 
and the regiment. Were I a soldier, I would say, 
‘‘ In God’s name give us back the flogging !” 

In what way does this condition affect the useful- 
ness . of the army.? Well, men are creatures of re- 
venge and impulse, and a regiment of the infantry in 
one engagement showed a greater loss of officers than 
of privates, howbeit their proportion and ratio of ex- 
posure were seventy-five per cent less. Many old 
scores were wiped out in a battle. What must have 
been the treatment that bred murder in comrades’ 
hearts ? 

A week had slowly passed in Triune camp, and the 
friends of Cadogan had settled down to the convic- 
tion that the court martial and sentence would fall 
but lightly upon him. His own views had not changed 
apparently. He refused to see anyone and sat with 
his hands on his knees, apparently in thought. A 
strange feature of his condition at this time was his 
abstention from food. Only an occasional draught 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


99 


from a bottle containing some curious oily compound, 
or an occasional handful of raw wheat. A change 
was also taking place in his appearance. His skin 
had a soft, luminous appearance, as though trans- 
parent; and in his eyes might be seen a far away 
gleam, as of insanity. No word of affection was 
spoken to any one. Clearly his thoughts were fixed 
on the world to which he anticipated going. His 
nature presented the phenomenon of a besieged army 
drawing in its out-posts and shortening its lines 
about some central citadel. At last came a day when 
the redoubtable Captain Woodson was again officer 
of the day. His face wore now a triumphant look, 
and his obese form was erect and his eyes fierce. 
Campbell was sergeant of the guard, and his short, 
sharp commands were instantly obeyed by the guard 
as they aligned themselves for inspection. 

“Where are the prisoners ?” asked Woodson. 

“ In the tent,” responded Campbell, briefly. 

“ Make them fall in. I wish to see the prisoners 
when I am officer of the day,” said Woodson. 

Campbell lifted the flap of the tent and cried out: 

“Fall in, prisoners.” 

The regular camp-rounders came out rubbing their 
eyes, and, taking in the situation, fell into as regular 
a line as their condition and drill would admit of. 
Woodson ran his eye down the line and asked: 

“Are those all the prisoners you have ?” 

Campbell touched his cap and said: 

“ All but Cadogan, who is wounded and not able to 
parade.” 

“And who told you what a man’s condition must 
be in order to escape duty? Order that man out,” 
said Woodson. 


oo 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Campbell turned to the tent again and said: 

“Come, Cadogan, the officer of the day wants to 
parade the prisoners. Fall in.” 

“ What kind of a way is that to talk to a mutinous 
deserter and prisoner?” said Woodson, as he stepped 
to the door of the tent. “ Come, you cursed malingerer 
and coward, roll out.” 

But Woodson himself seemed to be surprised when 
he looked inside. Cadogan had not heard a word 
which had been spoken. He sat with his chin upon 
his knees and his eyes fixed on the top of the tent. 
With an angr)?^ cry Woodson stepped inside and kicked 
the dreamer in the side, so that he arose, sighing with 
pain, and looked at the tormentor’s face. 

“ Don’t do that again,” said Campbell, in that thick, 
suffocating voice which indicates deadly anger. 

“What, more mutiny?” cried the now angry and 
crimson-faced captain. “ Come out here !” and he 
seized Cadogan by the neck and dragged him outside. 
In the sunlight he looked still more ghastly. His 
shrunken form looked boyish beside the stalwart 
guards about him. Woodson was now in his clement. 
He turned to Campbell and said, pointing to Cadogan: 
“ Buck and gag that man.” 

Campbell looked squarely in his eye and said: 

“ I will not do it.” 

Woodson turned to the guard and said, with a cruel 
Smile: 

“You hear me? I tell your sergeant to buck and 
gag that man, and he mutinies.” 

The men hung their heads sullenly. Woodson drew 
out a revolver, and cocking it, said again to Campbell: 

“ Buck and gag that man.” 

“ Captain,” said Campbell, “ I beg of you, in God’s 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


loi 


name, do not ask me to do that. He is my comrade. 
We have fought side by side, and shared our last 
penny and loaf. Now he is wounded unto death, help- 
less, and you use me as an instrument to torture my 
more than brother. Captain, for Heaven’s sake take" 
it back.” 



“ Buck and gag that fnan.'** 

Cadogan seemed to understand at last, and said, 
dreamily: 

“ I shall resist, Campbell. I dare not allow this tor- 
ture in my present condition without a protest. God 
gave me this body to protect. I will not strike you, 


102 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


my old comrade, but you will have to tie and tear me 
down. As an innocent man I will leave this record. 
Tear me down and tie me, my old comrade, and, mer- 
cifully, do it quickly.” 

Buck and gag that man'* 

The revolver was raised to a level with Campbell’s 
face, and he said to the guard: 

“ Men, I do it under protest. God knows I only 
submit to discipline. Forgive me, Cadogan,” and he 
hurled his ponderous form on that of Cadogan. The 
struggle was brief. What is it to buck and gag a 
man? First his feet are tied together. Then his 
hands are tied together in front. Next he is seated 
on the ground and his knees brought up under his 
chin, and his tied hands forced down over his knees 
and a stick of wood pushed under the knees and over 
the arms. Then a bayonet is put between the teeth 
and tied behind the head with a rope. Behold one of 
God’s images who is suffering mild punishment! The 
blood stops circulating in the hands, and they become 
black. The aching neck becomes swollen, and the 
veins stand out like whip-cords. This irritates the 
gaping mouth, and blood trickles down the face from 
the sharp corners of the bayonet. 

“ Now set him out in the sun.” So says Woodson, 
and contentedly he walks away. 

It creeps on toward noon. The vertical rays beat 
down on the bare young head. Campbell stoops and 
looks in his face. The victim is unconscious. You 
may carry him, thus trussed up, like a bale of goods. 
Campbell takes hold of the ends of the stick and 
carries the unconscious soldier into the guard-tent. 
Think you he dares to remove the bayonet and pour 
water into the parched mouth ? No; that would be a 


AJVjD in uniform. 


103 


breach of discipline, and could be punished with 
death. 

“ Turn out the guard,” said the officer of the day. 

Sure enough, a little drunker and a little more 
fierce. 

‘‘ Where is the prisoner ?” he asks. 

“ He fainted in the sun and I carried him into the 
tent,” said Campbell, in a constrained voice. 

“ Put him right back in the sun.” 

With a groan Campbell pointed to the tent, and 
two men brought out the victim and placed him in 
the yellow sunshine. Am I painting a fancy picture ? 
I would to God that were all. I saw it. The sun 
sank in the west. A whisper went around the camp. 
It came to the ears of the surgeon of the regiment. 
He came, with a scowl, away from an interesting game 
of cards, and stopped in front of the guard-tent and 
looked curiously at the last freak of discipline. Then 
he took' out his knife, cut the rope behind the head 
and the bayonet fell out, but the mouth remained 
open. The eyes were staring open and glassy. The 
cords were all cut, but the body was rigid, and had 
been for three hours. The surgeon turned and took 
the names of the guards. When Woodson ap- 
proached, a change took place instantly, and he cried, 
excitedly : 

“ Throw water in his face. He is shamming.” 

The surgeon reached out for Woodson’s sword and 
said : 

“Give me your sword. You are a prisoner. Re- 
port yourself instantly to the colonel. You have 
killed this man.” 

Then all the minute cowardice and poltroonery of 
the uniformed brute showed itself. He turned pale. 


104 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


he fidgeted, he turned to the guard, who detested the 
cruel venom of the drunken tyrant, and then handed 
to the surgeon his sword and started to turn away, 
but was arrested by the circumstances which we will 
detail in our next chapter. 


CHAPTER XV. 

’together. 

W E may attribute much of the failure of the 
colored troops during the civil war to the for- 
age-cap. The colored regiments did well — in fact, 
well as could be expected under the circumstances — 
but they did not leave a great historic name like the 
“ Chasseurs d’ Afrique ” or the Moors of Spain, and 
so small a thing as the forage-cap was the dull, obdu- 
rate planet which eclipsed the glory of the African in 
his hour of trial. A new headgear should have been 
devised for him in his new relations to society. Some 
shrewd and far-seeing lover of the race should have 
foreseen how he would be handicapped by a helmet 
invented for the Saxon or Caucasian race. We say it 
with reverence for providential differences of race, 
that the head, like its own tropical fruit, the pine- 
apple, was never intended to show to good advantage 
the forage-cap. Its leather peak, extending forward 
over a landscape of features devoid of much broken 
country, only shadowed what rugged declivities ap- 
peared in sight, and the long, bag-like crown, drawn 
over the long head, only suggested the straitened 
circumstances of the sausage in its narrow quarters. 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


105 

We simpljT- offer this suggestion as a probable cause. 
Let deeper philosophers seek more occult reasons. 
Under some circumstances the colored patriot might 
look fierce. In the forage-cap he looked positively 
funny, and humor never subjected a rebellious people 
or pushed forward new boundary-lines. 

Sam Johnson had on a forage-cap and a discarded 
military blouse, as a preliminary step, no doubt, to 
enlisting in the colored troops and dividing his bounty 
with Captain Woodson. He was still loyal to Miss 
Addie, though, for he was now running ahead of the 
big black horse and garrulously describing the won- 
ders of the camp to his young mistress. 

‘‘ Has you seed dem big hoss-cannons, Miss Addie ? 
Dey shoots ’em wid a string. Dey jess yank on dat 
string, and she let loose all ter. once — whoosh ! — an’ 
bumby you boun’ to hear somefin’ bu’st away off yan- 
der, 'bout fo’teen miles.” 

“Yes, Sam, I know all about it. But you say Cad- 
ogan was brought into camp by Captain Woodson.” 

“ Yass, dass w’at I said. De cappen, he went out 
to Hugh Mallon’s ter spa-a-k Miss Lucy, an’ I fergit 
to tell ’im ’bout dat sojer w’at was out dere, an’ de 
fust circumstance dat I seed, de cappen come out o’ 
dat house laik he done got some bizness down ter 
camp torreckly. Mow, he jess walk away from dat 
house.” 

“ Did Cadogan shoot at him ?” 

“ No-0-0, not erzackly; it seem like he got ’er all 
loaded an’ den change up his min’. But de cappen he 
didn’ wait to ax any questions. He seem ter wanter 
git back to camp most s’prisin’ bad.” 

“ I am ashamed of you, Sam, for associating with 
such a man.” 


io6 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Das jess so, Miss Addie. De cappen is a low- 
downer, but it’s war times, an’ even de niggers gotter 
’sociate wid dese fellers.” 

“ And then Woodson went back and arrested Cad- 
ogan for aiming a gun at him, did he ?” 

“Jess so, an’ now he got ’im in the gyard-house. 
Dey been put me in dar las’ week, an’ made me cut 
’bout fo’teen cowds ob wood fer de kitchen ’fore dey 
let me out. Heah ’tis, right around dis cornder, on 
de side-hill.” 

Thus talking, they came full upon the scene we left 
in the last chapter. Miss Addie made a startling pic- 
ture as she pulled up her steed and looked down 
at the group. 

The surgeon yet stood with Woodson’s sword in 
his hand. Campbell was leaning against a tree, sob- 
bing with that terrific grief which, in strong men, 
pent up for years, when at last it asserts sway over 
the great nature, tears away obstructions of shame 
or reticence like a mountain-torrent. His hand had 
bound the cruel cords. His massive strength had 
torn down that slender form. He had bound the 
bayonet in the soft, womanish lips, and he sobbed in 
anguish of heart: “Forgive me, oh! forgive me, my 
comrade and my brother.” In front of his victim 
stood Woodson. Who can measure the minute gen- 
erosity or meanness of a fellow-being? Was his face 
white with fear, or was there any remorse as he con- 
sidered the sudden end of his pursuit and hate ? 
White he was, and tremulous as with age as the in- 
spiration of duink left him. 

In the centre of the group crouched the form of 
Cadogan — the knees beneath the chin as he was 
bound, and the arms clasped about the legs in the 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


107 


rigidity of death, never to be relaxed. The eyes 
were yet open, but glassy. 

Addie sprang from her horse, and tossing the lines 
to Sam, came and stood in front of Cadogan, and 
said, in a plaintive voice: 

“ Cadogan, you said a day would come when I 
might rise to a plane of such perfect love that all 
desire of hampering your upward flight would be 
taken away. Then you said I might come. See, 
Cadogan, I have left my home; I have left maiden 
shame. I have left the pride of life, and come to be 
your pupil in the lore of Heaven. I am only the 
child of a despised race. I forsake all, Cadogan, O 
king of men; I am here to claim your promise. Why 
do you not speak ? There is no expression in your 
eyes. Let me touch your face — it is cold. Oh, God, 
what is this ?” 

All faces were turned aside, and a gentle tremor 
ran through the group. I read when a boy of a scene 
in the Arctic, where the sailors shot one by one the 
cubs of a female polar bear. She tried to call the 
dead. They responded not. Then she came back, 
turned them over, and sniffed curiously at their 
wounds. Death was a wonder to her, but at last, 
when she comprehended the mystery of death and 
her loss, she turned to seek the spoiler of her affec- 
tions. 

Addie Johnson stood beside Cadogan, with her 
hand resting on his brown curls, and her eyes slowly 
roved over the group. One by one she searched the 
sympathetic faces about her until she fixed her gaze 
on Woodson. 

At first wonderingly, then with a searching look, 
as though trying to comprehend a deep psychologi- 


io8 A PHILOSOPHER IH LOVE 

cal problem. Then she spoke in a deep, hollow tone, 
changed within the minute: 

“ I am mistress of the Hall, yonder. My brother is 
dead, and I am alone. I shall dispose of myself as I 
wish, and I trust my wishes will be respected. I shall 
be buried with this man. My heart is broken, and my 
curse will follow him who thwarts my wishes. We 
shall be together, as he promised. Captain Wood- 
son, I am wondering how God lets such moles and 
vermin as you crawl into the life of such a man as 
this; but a serpent sometimes fastens its fangs into 
the breast of the eagle, and it topples down from 
the fleecy clouds or the highest crags, a victim to a 
reptile.’* 

She approached and stood before him, and con- 
tinued: 

“ The great and good are ever the objects of the 
hate of such as you. It is not death alone that loves 
a shining mark, but every mote has a power to inter- 
cept a small ray of the sunlight, and you, murderer, 
reptile, hateful polluter of God’s atmosphere, could 
kill this king among common men.” 

She hissed out her last words, and struck Woodson 
full in the face with her riding-whip. Was it a blow 
directed by a Nemesis ? Ghastly white and red flowed 
dowm his cheeks, and he groped with his hands. His 
eyes were cut out by the silken lash. Addie knew not of 
the condign punishment she had inflicted, but turned 
to walk back to the side of Cadogan. A shriek rung 
out on the forest-echo, so vibrant, so piercing, that 
a thousand men held their breath in the camp. 
Horses neighed in sympathy, and birds for an in- 
stant quenched their songs. Addie Johnson was 
dead beside the man she loved. 


AJV£> IN UNIFORM. 


109 

Striding along the side-hill, leaning for support at 
times on a staff of oak, came the majestic form of 
Myra. Sam took off his cap and stood in abject fear. 
The officers and soldiers drew aside and awaited her 
errand with curiosity. She directed her steps in- 
stantly to the ghastly group in the middle of the 



“the rigid form was laid away.” 


circle. There she leaned on her staff and looked 
down for a time in silence. No tear bedewed her 
cheek. No revenge shone in her eye. She under- 
stood it all. She turned and said, musingly, to the 
listeners: 

“They call me prophetess and voodoo. I knew 
something of the charms of the midnight workings 


I lO 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


of the race to which I belong, but here was a man 
who held the influences of the stars at his' command. 
Here waLs one who understood all speech, and before 
whose imperious voice all the chambers of secret 
knowledge were opened. I knew his power. This is 
my daughter here. What, you start ? She found her 
life beneath this heart. That fair cheek drew its tides 
from this dark skin. But the night is past” — and she 
extended her arm — “ and behold the morning cometh 
and the shadows flee away. We shall enter now the 
wilderness and commence our forty years of wander- 
ing, and then come the corn and wine of the promised 
land. The foot of the war-horse will tear up the 
tough soil for a new harvest. Farewell, Addie,” and 
she stooped and kissed her. “ Farewell, O prophet 
of the brighter dawn,” and she laid her hand on Ca- 
dogan’s brow. “ Farewell, my home; I have no native 
land. Bury them together.” And with no backward 
look, but with Sam, bareheaded, following behind, 
Myra went out of the sight and out of the cognizance 
of all who knew her, and was never seen again. 
Whether in the new days of change she drifted back 
to her kindred, or buried herself in some obscure 
spot, or in some Eastern city she dwelt respected, was 
never known. 

It was a labor of love for Campbell and the general 
to" carry out the wishes of Cadogan at his obsequies. 
The rigid form was never straightened, but, carefully 
prepared in all ways as had been directed, it was laid 
away in the grotto at Hugh Mallon’s. On the dais 
beside the body of Cadogan reposed the beautiful 
form of Addie Johnson, and for miles the swains and 
maidens would come to pick a flower from the grotto 
whose story was known to all. As Cadogan had said. 


AArn IN UNIFORM. 


HI 


the zephyrs played through the iron grating, and 
leaves, blown by the wind, eddied about the cavern. 
On the body of the sleeper Campbell had found the 
letter to be opened at the end of six months. Would 
it tell from whence he came ? Would it reveal his 
past career or his wonderful attainments ? Would it 
speak of a home, or friends, or relatives ? Perhaps; 
but in the meantime it was held sacred, and even the 
general would not ask to break the seal until the time 
specified by the writer should expire. One more pic- 
ture, and the story of the knapsack will be told. Bear 
with us longer. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


chickamauga. 



HE camp of instruction is a miniature city. In a 


week its business centres are established and its 
avenues are located. In two weeks its streets are 
beaten hard and ring beneath the footfalls. In a 
month it has its caf^^ its hospital, its busir^ess houses, 
and its wide avenue for the dite — the officers — and far 
away it has its suburb, where games of chance and its 
brisk fistic encounters are celebrated. It has also by 
this time its cemetery. Near by, on some secluded 
knoll, a few mounds of red earth and a few white- 
painted boards, lettered in black, tell the sad story 
that in peace and war, in camp and city, the dread 
mower goes his rounds and leaves his swath of fallen 
grain. Likewise this city has its laws and its rulers, 
as well as its police force. It stirs at five in the morn- 
ing at the call of the bugle, and then performs its 


II2 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


toilette to the accompaniment of the reveille on fife and 
drum. It extinguishes its lights at nine in the even- 
ing as suddenly as if it had known of the electric 
light and the engine of the plant had stopped. It is 
the best city in the world during the night. No 
stragglers creep along its streets, and no bacchanalian 
song desecrates its quiet; for the police of these 
streets carry muskets, and in the moonlight the glim- 
mer of a bayonet admonishes the unruly that a law is 
in force here that awaits no parley and admits no 
argument. This city of canvas is marvelous in its 
flight. No Aladdin ever moved a palace so quickly as 
this city moves. At sundown it had its streets, its 
stores, its clinking shops, its scenes of revelry. At 
daylight the ground where it stood is marked by a 
few fragments of lumber, a few discarded huts and 
garments, and some smoldering embers of neglected 
fires. A dog prowls about the silent scene seeking 
refuse food. A few colored women turn over, with a 
view to appropriation, the frayed coats and the tat- 
tered blankets on the streets. But the cemetery re- 
mains, and the broken hearts of a few maidens who 
certainly have not loved wisely if with fervency. All 
the interchange of thought, all the gentle helpfulness, 
all the brief experience of love, all the piquancy and 
life, are gone with the cloth city which moved before 
daylight in the morning. 

Rosecrans now had an army. In the massed troops 
individuality is for a time lost. Miles of loaded 
wagons. Sixty thousand men in three army corps. 
Six thousand cavalry, and a hundred and fifty field- 
pieces of artillery. 

Bragg also has an army. He has also been prepar- 
ing for the Northern invasion. He has Shelby ville 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


I13 

fortified with earth-works five miles in length. He 
has Tullahoma fortified, and a cheval-de-frise of oaken 
forest, felled and sharpened in each limb, to cover all 
the dense forest and swamp. But behold, Rosecrans 
comes to the redoubtable works .of Shelbyville, and 
making a feint of attacking, he flanks the position 
and goes on. What is this new strategy ? Bragg is 
nonplussed. Tullahoma will stop Rosecrans, at any 
rate. Not at all; he flanks it and goes on, and Bragg 
flees southward, leaving stores at Shelbyville, stores 
at Tullahoma. What a Fourth of July to celebrate 
with booming cannon ! Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Tul- 
lahoma. Then the rapid flight of Bragg into East 
Tennessee, and Rosecrans’ army clambering over the 
Cumberland Mountains in hot pursuit. Up the Uni- 
versity Road, where cannon are dragged over preci- 
pice and crag with ropes and by hand, while the 
horses are led about an easy way. The loaded wagons 
were pushed over the mountains by the men, and then 
comes the crossing of the Tennessee River on pon- 
toons, with the brief investment of the City of Chat- 
tanooga. This Rosecrans must be matched, must be 
repulsed, or the Confederacy will fall. Tennessee has 
sustained an army, we must now sustain Tennessee. 
It is September, and the army of Rosecrans is about 
to seize and hold East Tennessee. September ist 
Bragg has 40,000 men. September 19th he has 80,000. 
All night the trains rumble and roar, and in the forest 
Longstreet marshals the re-enforcements from Vir- 
ginia. Up from dismantled Vicksburg comes the 
remnant of its Confederate defenders. On the morn- 
ing of September 19th, 1863, both armies were taken 
by surprise. It was mutual, therefore not fatal. Had 
one army been ready and the other unready, it would 


1 14 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

have been fatal to one of those armies. Neither 
army was ready. Both were thunderstruck at the 
sudden meeting. It was in a dense forest, where no 
line could be seen forty rods away. Neither knew the 
ground. It was the nightmare of war. It was a 
jubilee of Satan, a carnival of death. Only to stand 
up and fire. Only to stand up and die. Mad charges 
were made, which only paved the floor of the forest 
with dead and dying men. Whole divisions of the 
armies were isolated and cut to pieces wrtbout form, 
order, or semblance of strategy. Brigades fought 
until ammunition failed; then were sent back to in- 
quire of dead generals what to do next, and their 
messengers found Rebel troops where the generals 
were seen last. A brigade of Union troops are rest- 
ing, and a division of Rebel troops file across their 
front as if on parade, with colors yet unfurled and 
marching by fours at the right flank. They are anni- 
hilated, and die in finding out their mistake. Rose- 
crans is everywhere, trying to form his broken line. 
Garfield, his chief of staff, rides to and fro amid the 
pandemonium. The Ninth Ohio charge and retake a 
Union battery. Then in changing front the battery 
is left to again fall into Rebel hands. A battery of 
Parrott guns stands in an open spot with every horse 
shot dead, and the dead artillerists, with swab-sticks 
and buckets and shells in their hands, about the lim- 
bers and across the trails. Oh, it was maddening — 
just kill, kill, only kill. Thirty-two thousand killed 
and wounded in this two days of struggle. One man 
in that terrific slaughter became immortal — Thomas. 
History writes him the Rock of Chickamauga. 
Where he sat down with the Fourteenth Corps, to 
hold the key to Chattanooga, he remained two days. 


^iVZ> IN UNIFORM, 


115 

When the re-enforced Rebel army hurled all its 
strength and weight upon him, he sat and waited. His 
regiments covered the hill-sides with dead, not 
wounded, for the wounded fought until they died. 
Still he waited, and bade his aids carry with their own 
hands the cartridges to his dwindling regiments. 
Companies, with officers all dead, turned and looked 
at the serene old face, and then fought on. Half his 
ffien gone, he merely shortened his line that much. 
Outflanked, he merely bent on his wings until, in a 
horseshoe form, his feeble remnant of an army held 
out. Send Pat Cleburne to crush that little band. 
Hurrah ! they come up charging and shouting. The 
men about Thomas are beyond shouting; they are in 
the sublime mood of enduring. They ravel out with 
deadly aim the long line of Cleburne, and some of his 
regiments never form again. Longstreet sends the 
pride of his army, at sunset of the second day, to 
finish the exhausted army corps. They meet, they 
mingle; Rebel troops, for a moment, ask curious ques- 
tions of Union men they are face to face with. A 
Rebel soldier drinks from a Union soldier’s canteen 
in the gloaming, before the gray of his uniform is 
seen, and he falls pierced by a bullet. Then comes a 
relief of Granger’s reserves. Steedman bravely assists. 
Thomas is not beaten, and it is nightfall. Has my 
description been hard to understand ? It is more, far 
more, coherent than was the battle. Chattanooga 
was saved, Bragg had not annihilated the army of 
Rosecrans, and it was nightfall. 

On the plateau defended by the corps of Thomas 
were a few cultivated fields amid the forest. Wrenched 
from the unwilling soil, yellow and obdurate, some of 
the poorer farmers had maintained life with the corn 


Ii6 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

and wheat and potatoes grown in these openings. 
The historic field where fell a score of Union and 
Confederate officers was marked by the mounds made 
by coal-pits where, in peaceful days, charcoal had 
been burned for the Chattanooga markets. These 
mounds, scarcely raised above the surrounding sur- 
face, had been eagerly sought by the soldiers of both 
sides as a protection from the terrific hail of lead of 
the second day. Here, in this field of the coal-pits, 
the ground was about equally covered with Rebel 
and Union dead. Successive charges and repulses 
had sown the ground with blue and gray as the fur- 
rows are sowed with grain. At one side was a log 
barn or house of some cheap construction, and this 
was used as a field-hospital. In the only momentary 
lull of the scream of shells or rush of grape and can- 
ister, a sound of such mingled agony and fear came 
from that building as would blanch the cheek that 
had not paled before in the carnage. Here was 
grouped the surgical talent of the battle-field. Come 
ye who pale when in some silent room a gentle but 
efficient surgeon, with a smile, prepares the glittering 
instruments of his craft, and then, with gentle hand, 
inflicts his pain. Behold the field-hospital, with its 
surgeons bare-armed and dripping blood. A moment 
only is given to an operation on which a life depends. 
A gasp, and the saw is no longer plied. The patient 
is beyond all kindly help. As the white bandage is 
wrapped, the hand is stayed for a moment and the 
head is ducked. A solid shot has gone astray in its 
undirected way and plows through the shattered 
logs. Blood is everywhere, and pain seems the 
heritage of a race. There are no cots in this hos- 
pital. Some fortunate men have for pillows empty 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


117 


ammunition-boxes covered with their coats. Some 
lie along the puncheon floor as they were dropped by 
their comrades, with their eyes staring up at the raft- 
ers and their lips mumbling a prayer. God must pity 
us in our earth experience. 

One of these forms we should know. It is a robust, 
manly form, and as it lies, without support of pillow, 
the chest protrudes in a startling way. A negro 
kneels beside him and holds a canteen to his lips. 
After drinking he speaks: 

“ How did I get here, Sam ?” 

“ I toted you, sergeant. I seed you pitch forward 
when Willich’s rigiment made dat charge. I was a 
sorter stayin’ in reserve back by dat pile of knap- 
sacks. Sergeant, I hope I may nebber die ef I couldn’t 
ketch a bushel of lead a minute ef I had a sheet-iron 
basket ’bout dat time.” 

‘‘And you carried me off, did you, Sam? You are 
a brave nigger, Sam. Give me your hand.” 

“ Much obleeged, sergeant; but I guess I ain’ gwine 
mek much ob a sojer. I owns de cawn. Now, if I 
was wuckin’ fer de Gub’ment ter-day, I boun’ ter take 
a holiday ef dey docks me a week.” 

“ Where are you hit, my man ?” asks the voice of a 
surgeon down near Campbell’s feet. 

He turns his eyes downward and answers: 

“ Somewhere about my shoulder, and I am very 
weak — losing blood, I guess.” 

Stepping around to his side, the surgeon tenderly 
rips open the blouse, cuts open the shirt with his 
scissors, and lifts the arm. A look of horror creeps 
over his face, used as he is to awful sights. Then he 
looks into Campbell’s face and says: 

“ Have you any idea how bad you are wounded ?” 


ii8 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

“No, sir,” says Campbell, coolly. 

“ You have only five minutes to live. Your shoul- 
der-blade and shoulder are torn away by a shell, and 
nothing can save you. God bless you, poor fellow. 
What company and regiment shall I write you 
down ?” 

“Campbell, Company H, Thirty-fifth,” said he, 
with a sigh. 

The surgeon made a note of it and passed on. 
Sam was sobbing. 

“Stop that, Sam. Be a man. Put your hand into 
my breast and unbuckle my money-belt. Keep the 
money, but carry those letters back to Triune and 
give them to Hugh Mallon. One of them is Cado- 
gan’s letter. Some one should read it. Care for the 
letter, Sam.” Then, after a pause, he asked: “Sam, 
did you ever pray ?” 

“Lots of times; but, Lordy, sergeant, I ain’ been 
doin’ much at it 'since de wah. Seems laik my ’ligion 
was all broke up.” 

“ Never mind, just get off a simple little prayer to 
yourself and hold my hand, and when you squeeze 
it I will say ‘ Amen.* God won’t sort the prayers 
very close in a hurrying time like this, and you can 
be as sincere as a fifteen-hundred-dollar chaplain. 
How dark it is' getting ! Are you praying ? I don’t 
hear a word. Amen. Good-by, Sam.” 

The torn breast heaved once convulsively, and then 
a great, generous heart ceased to beat. A few 
minutes later the lines shifted, and the harpies of the 
army came into the hospital and turned inside out 
the pockets of the dead and dying. A blow from the 
butt of a carbine felled Sam to the floor, and when 
the money-belt was emptied, the letters were torn 


AJVD IN' UNIFORM. 


II9 

open one by one and tossed upon the log-fire in front 
of the hospital. Among the rest Cadogan’s letter 
was tossed into the fire, and the last link which 
bound the . mystery of his life to common men was 
gone. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

REST A MOMENT. 

TTUGH MALLON stopped his story. I leaned for- 
^ ward and said: 

“ It is a strange, weird tale. It is sad, also, and I 
can hardly sit still and hear you say you know no 
more of Cadogan’s story. But, the general, the com- 
panion of Cadogan in his occult studies, why did he 
not come back and unravel the history of his life ?” 

“ General was assassinated by guerrillas near 

Newmarket, Ala., in the summer of 18 — ,* as you will 
discover in any history of the war,” said Mallon, 
gravely. 

“ And you never knew anything more of Cadogan’s , 
antecedents or his family, or the cause of his strange 
life or studies ?” I asked. 

“ I. have told you all I ever knew or surmised of the 
strange romance which took place here in the sum- 
mer of ’63, while the Union forces were encamped at 
this place for instruction,” said Mallon. 

“Your kindness and attention in his last illness 
seem to have fixed the memory of Cadogan so in your 
heart that you almost regard him in the light of a 
son,” I said. Mallon nodded his head in affirmation. 


*We strain the dates somewhat here. — Authors. 


120 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


^‘At the same time Cadogan seemed to hold himself 
aloof from entangling affections, and steeled his heart 
to resist even the love of woman. Had he lived, he 
would still have pursued his strange studies, and torn 
himself from all softer or tenderer fellowships,” and 
I looked triumphantly at Lucy Mallon, on whose 
cheeks burned the red color of excitement. I wished 
to put my fortune to the test, and went on: “While 
some less-gifted man, with a heart all human, might 
not attempt such spiritual flights, but would be satis- 
fied with God’s best gift to man — a woman’s love — 
and let the mysteries of life go.” 

Lucy arose to leave the room, but turned at the 
door and shot this Parthian arrow: 

“ Thou shalt lower to his level day by day, 

What is fine within thee growing coarse, to sympathize with clay. 

“Yes,” I cried after her; “but Tennyson had been 
sadly sacked, and later on made a prosaic mar- 
riage.” 

The door was slammed in mimic wrath, and I knew 
that I had won a step forward in my wooing. 

“ But, Mr. Mallon,” I said, “ what becajne of Sam, 
the colored man, who was mixed up in the ro- 
mance ?” 

“The very individual I am looking at out of the 
window now. He runs a pair of mules and wagon to 
the depot to carry passengers and the mails, and he 
has left the main road and is coming toward the 
house with three passengers on board. I wonder 
what it means?” said the old man. 

With much flourishing of whip and voice, the carry- 
all was swung up to the door, and Sam said: 

“Heah you is, gemman. Fo’ bits, a half-dollah, or 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


21 


two quahtahs pays de bill. Dem’s the wagon-pull- 
inest mules in de cyounty. Bring up yo’ trunks in de 
mawnin’.” 

“Ha!” said I. “Sam, were you in the war?” 

“Was I in de wah ? Sah, I was froo de wah. Go 
’long, Jane Ann. Ast Mr. Mallon; he knows. I was 
wid Gineral Rosecrans at Chickamauga. Come up, 
John Henry. Good day, sah; de mail boun’ ter be 
on time.” 

The three passengers were standing in a group. 
The most prominent was a florid English tourist. You 
need ask no questions about him. He had on a 
checked traveling-suit, and a pair of thicK walking- 
shoes which looked as if leather and nails were much 
cheaper in England than with us. He had on a com- 
ical cap of checked cloth, which gave him the appear- 
ance of an American hostler as to head-gear. He had 
a glass inserted in his left eye, and was scrutinizing 
the house with much curiosity. He was large, florid, 
and healthy looking. He handed Mr. Mallon a 
card: 

ARTHUR CRESTLAKE, 

Lincoln’s Inn, London. 


The second person was an East-Indian. This, also, 
was evident at a glance. He was about five feet four 
inches in height, and slender. His eyes were bright, 
black, and twinkling. From whatever way you ap- 
proached him you seemed to notice nothing but those 
eyes. His dress was conventional, though somehow 
the black alpaca trousers, satin vest, and seersucker 
coat looked as if turned out by a tailor at Calcutta 
and first worn in the presence of a rajah in some office 
in a palace up the country. He took out a gold card 


122 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


case and handed Mr. Mallon a scented card, printed 
on pressed silk, and it read: 

SAKYA HUMI, 

Bombay. 

The third man>at last was touched upon the shoulder, 
and he lifted a pair of green goggles from his eyes 
and revealed one of those horrible sights which the 
law demands shall be kept covered, in mercy and con- 
sideration for the feelings of the public. Both his 
eyes were^gone, and’ only the red, cavernous sockets 
reminded the observer of the ghastly loss. Mallon 
turned and led the way into the house, where the fru- 
gal evening meal was being spread by the deft hands 
of Lucy. After the evening meal, when pipes were 
lighted, we sat down about the glowing wood fire and 
three stories were told by the three strangers, and at 
midnight much light had been thrown on the curious 
career of Cadogan. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE Englishman’s story. 

^ T AM here because at Triune was lost a thread 
A which, however slender, had been the means of 
secretly binding a wonderful and mysterious man to 
those who may or may not have had strong reasons for 
loving and caring for the wanderer. Here, Mr. Mallon, 
the thread snapped and I now stand at the end of the 
clew. I am an attorney and counselor-at-law of Lin- 
coln’s Inn, City. America — or, properly, the United 
States — is in the future to be the field of romance for 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


123 


several reasons. One is, that it has been the reservoir 
of the strange and heterogeneous happenings of the 
civilized world. It has been the asylum of the out- 
cast and the wounded of older civilizations. If we 
stop to consider a moment, we shall recall the fact 
that it has not always been the commonplace or 
ignorant who have been exiles on these shores. Louis 
Napoleon had, I understand, a cigar-shop in your 
metropolis of New York. A French king lived for a 
time on a Nev/ Jersey farm, and Garibaldi was a toiler 
at a dollar a day in a factory in one of your slums. 
As a home for the oppressed the United States has 
entertained many angels unawares, who afterward 
soared away on silver pinions. 

“In 1856 there was interjected into American society 
a strange and mysterious man. From whence he 
came no one knew. His previous history none could 
tell. He was a strangely beautiful man, with large, 
expressive eyes and a tender, womanish mouth. 
Those who saw him turned again to look, and if they 
were of a literary turn of mind they remarked a won- 
derful similarity to the steel-plate pictures of Lord 
Byron. Byron’s pictures, like those of your great first 
President, Washington, all look alike. I do not know 
that this stranger ever claimed to be a son of Lord 
Byron; probably not. Some have said that through 
New York bankers he received money from Newstead 
Abbey. As a lawyer I make no admissions; I only 
tell what was said in newspaper gossip at the time. 
This man had some traits peculiar to Lord Byron. 
He was an intense lover of liberty, and was Quixotic 
in his plans and acts. He entered into the Kansas 
excitement of 1856, and was known as Colonel Rich- 
ard Rolfe. Let us say that was his name — Rolfe. He 


124 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


was brave as the proverbial English lion, and in those 
terrible days of Kansas riot and bloodshed a lurid 
track of brave deeds and self-sacrificing acts marked 
his career. He went farther, and, like Byron at Mis- 
solonghi, Greece, he dreamed of a republic to rise up 
out of the ashes of a slave oligarchy. He was the 
lieutenant of that mad though gentle enthusiast, John 
Brown, and, in the dream of the fanatic, Rolfe figured 
as the Secretary of State in the plans of a government 
to be founded on the frail base of a freed mob of 
bondmen. He was with Brown in that insane raid at 
Harper’s Ferry, and when the hot bubble, rising on 
the steam of political excitement, burst and John 
Brown died, the last to admit defeat was Rolfe. Gen- 
tlemen, I am only a lawyer, but I tell you that those 
mad enthusiasts wrote the first chapter in the history 
of universal freedom. This Rolfe was also as bright 
a poet as the one he resembled. In camp and bivouac 
he sent out plaintive battle-calls and inspiring an- 
thems of hope which will cling to your language and 
literature as long as they exist. In more favorable 
circumstances he would have stamped his name on 
the age, as did he whom he was said to resemble. I 
recall a bugle-song of the Kansas camps, which com- 
mences, 

“ ‘All night within our guarded tents, 

Until the moon was low, 

Wrapped round as with Jehovah’s smile, 

We waited for the foe. 

“He became a journalist, and stood out for a time a 
marvel of wit, and a wonder of concentration of 
thought and clearness of perception. As I trace him 
through his erratic career I find him possessed of the 
same curse of volatility noticed in Byron. At times 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


125 


no monk more austere in deportment, no cloistered 
dreamer with more elated conceptions of purity or 
manly nobility; but then again he became a fallen 
angel and revelled in debauchery, and consorted with 
the low and vile. There are hints of broken mar- 
riage-vows and insane revels which broke loving 
hearts. At last I find him in the Western army, seek- 
ing a higher and better life. I hear of him as a won- 
der of purity and a dreamer of the perfection of the 
human race. Finally there comes a time when no 
longer are drafts made on the New York bankers, and 
the law firm in London is not called upon to for- 
ward bills of exchange. Under the name of Cadogan 
this strange being is laid in a Southern grave, and as 
a lawyer and counsellor I am here to verify his death. 
Mind, gentlemen, I admit nothing. This Rolfe, or 
Cadogan, may have been born in a workhouse, may 
have had no living relative, but he had friends; and 
if any of you are in possession of facts which will go 
to show that Rolfe the poet and Cadogan the dreamer 
and soldier are one, and that the one I describe is 
dead, I am willing to pay for information, or if no 
pay is desired, I am very grateful for favors received. 
I am a man of business and of few words. Will you 
hand me the tobacco ? I wish to replenish my pipe.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE EAST-INDIAN’s STORY. 

^ ^ T N every age of the world there have been select 
and masterful minds dissatisfied with the con- 
clusions arrived at by the masses in reference to spirit- 


126 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


ual things. Questions have arisen which ordinary logic 
or commonplace evidence could not answer. It is only 
necessary to speak of a few. Is there an indepen- 
dently existing soul in man ? Science has never found 
evidence that there is. Can the soul, or spirit, of 
man for a time leave the body, visit distant places, 
and return to its habitation ? Science laughs at such 
a question. Can two sympathetic souls hold converse 
while their bodies are miles apart ? Science calls the 
very question puerile and an insult to reason. Is what 
we call death a separation of soul and body, or does 
death terminate experience ? Science is respectful in 
her answer, but says that this universal belief is a 
chimera born of longing for a continued existence. 
In all ages of the world, I say, men have existed who 
have made these questions the study of their lives, 
and they answer to every question: ‘Yes, man has a 
spirit independently existing; that spirit can leave the 
body and return; two of these spirits may hold con- 
verse though their bodies be miles apart, and death is 
the separation of an unimpaired and perfect spirit 
from a decaying body.’ 

“These questions are noticeable for their spontane- 
ous promulgation all over the world. They are asked 
in China, in India, in Persia, in Palestine, simultane- 
ously. The query then comes, not from education; 
it is inherent in the race and sporadic in its appear- 
ance. You will be astonished when I tell you that, 
since the dawn of time, these select minds among 
men were in correspondence and sympathy with each 
other. As, in some foretold conjunction of the 
planets, observers are placed all over the world to 
report on differing aspects of the phenomenon, so all 
over the world this brotherhood of students took note 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


127 


of the advance of spiritual science. Confucius, Budd- 
ha, or Mohammed might dream alone, but their 
dreams added to the store of thought. In my native 
India was the centre of this occult study. For ages 
in the caves of the Himalayas have lived the Brothers. 
You call them adepts, proficients, masters. They were 
the wise men who came from the East when the Jew- 
ish Messiah was born. From the mountain-tops, 
where the dawn first touched with its light, they saw 
the coming of a new Teacher. We hold even that the 
Paul of the new religion belonged to this brother- 
hood, and that when the Christ said to his pupils; 
‘To you it is given to know the secrets of the king- 
dom,’ he intimated that they were adepts in this oc- 
cult study of the ages. 

“To what have we attainecfcin the garnering of the 
fruit of ages of thought? To this: We communicate 
with each other when thousands of miles apart. 
Thought flashes from mind to mind, as electricity 
flies from cloud to cloud. Missives are written and 
transmitted through space unseen, and materialized 
at their destination as blades of grass materialize 
from dew and sunshine. The evidence of the exist- 
ence of spirit has been verified by voluntary exits of 
the soul from its tenement and the empty house wait- 
ing with all its involuntary functions, as breathing, 
circulation of the blood, and production of animal 
heat, going on perfectly without the assistance of the 
spirit, until that spirit returns to set in motion the 
voluntary muscles and again resume the mastership 
of the body. To prove the immortality of the spirit, 
it may forever remain away from its earthly tenement 
and allow it to fall into decay. In 1840 there came to 
us in our cave-dwellings a man who sought to perfect 


128 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


himself in occult study. His name was Cadogan. I 
see you look startled at the date I give, as you have 
called Cadogan a young man. One of the simplest 
arts known to our cult is the arrest of the decays of 
age. Without doubt in 1840, Cadogan looked of the. 
same age that he did in 1863. I have no idea how old 
he was. He was a petitioner to us for further light 
in occult study, but on examination we found him a 
master and our superior. He had conceived the vast 
and stupendous thought of gathering into one mind 
the spiritual stores of the whole world. We, in our 
egotism, had been satisfied to sit down and follow our 
thread of truth from age to age with only hints by 
correspondence with congenial minds in all lands. 
This Cadogan had started with the project of learn- 
ing the habits of plants and flowers; then devoting 
himself to the next step of creation — the animal world 
— he could call the birds in their own tones, and with 
a note of love make the bounding steed stoop for his 
caress, and even the tiger of the jungle recognized in 
him a master. Then he had stood naked in the voo- 
doo rites of Africa and bore a chieftain’s brand on his 
white flesh. He had learned the Persian’s tongue, 
and had felt the thrill of the greeting song of dawn 
in their sun-worship. He had rested with a band of 
pilgrims at the shrine of Mecca, and had studied the 
concealed truths of the Koran. In the ice-huts of the 
North he had studied the hints of immortality in the 
rude wooden lares and penates of the Esquimaux. 
Himself a follower of the Nazarene, he had culled the 
religious truths of advanced civilization. Then he 
came to us and wore the coarse robe of a neophyte 
for seven years, before we dared to open to him the 
evidences of immortality we had accumulated through 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


129 


the ages. After ten years of study, he stood among 
us the master-mind, the marvel of India, the ruler 
over mental powers, a king of men. My English friend, 
this was not the erratic wanderer you seek. This man 
was as pure as the winter sunlight on a glacier. Trans- 
parent as the springs of my native mountains, and as 
free from human passions as the white rose of our 
valleys, he could not have been the man he was and 
live an unclean life. The wisdom of the ages is con- 
centrated in this, ‘ Virtue is power, vice is weakness.’ 
In every relation of life strength is found in virtue. 
Why am I here ? Seven years ago the upper currents 
of the air brought to us a message. It was a death- 
note. It exhaled a sigh of agony. It was definite 
only in this — it came from the camps of the Ameri- 
can army. It spoke of a later message, which nev^er 
came. For seven years I have followed the fragments 
of that army, but get no definite clew as to that further 
message. I come now to the scene of his agony and 
death. I am here to find the clew to that concealed 
and wondrous life. I could tell of yet more wonder- 
ful secrets hidden in our lore of the ages, but you 
would stand aghast and doubt. I may have a theory 
as to who this man was before he became absorbed 
in occult study. I might hint at a throne discarded, 
and the tinsel trappings of modern greatness re- 
nounced for a greater mission, but you would dis- 
believe. To-day there wait a few of the Brothers in 
every land to hear the completion of the wondrous 
story. What would have been the conclusion arrived 
at by this superlative student, what the world loses 
by his silence, this I ponder. I am done.” 


130 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE BLIND MAN’s STORY. 

KVl the ?nurder€r of Cadogan. I am blind. In the 
A hour in which his soul left his tortured body I 
was struck blind as if the wrath of Heaven had found 
a way to give me the mark of Cain, while my heart was 
yet thrilling with the remorse of a useless and brutal 
crime. I perceive a motion of repugnance among 
you, though I cannot see. I find no fault with that 
expression of righteous anger. I have become accus- 
tomed to it by seven years of similar experience. I 
have sometimes become aware of it by reproaches, 
and often by the avoidance of my society by those 
who know my history. I left the army because my 
very life became a burden to me there. Brother 
officers shunned me as they would a leper, and my 
entrance into their society was a signal for instant 
cessation of talk, and one by one they would arise and 
go away until I was left alone. In the military hos- 
pital, where I went for treatment, my story had pre- 
ceded me, and my wounds were a mark of shame 
instead of honor. How willingly would I have ex- 
changed my sightless eyes for the shapeless bulk of 
some brave, helpless man, denuded of his limbs like a 
stump denuded of its branches! How willingly would 
I have gone down the path of life, led by kind hands, 
could I have blotted out the record of my shame I I 
courted the investigation of a court-martial, and would 
have welcomed any punishment that would have 
seemed to expiate my needless crime and cruelty. 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


131 

When others marched home with flaunting banners 
at the return of peace, I stood at a street corner 
jostled by the crowd, and listened to the bands play- 
ing the airs which had inspired my feeble steps as I 
marched through four States of the Union behind that 
same flag which I heard fluttering in the breeze. My 
worn uniform became a reproach, and I sought a plainer 
garb which would excite no questioning. In my 
native town the story of my crime was village gossip, 
and my own kindred turned away from me in silent 
contempt. I became a wanderer on the face of the 
earth, and listened to poorly-told stories of brave 
struggles I had participated in, and dared say no 
word though my heart thrilled with pride. In my 
poverty I sought no guerdon of pension from a 
government I had helped to save, for my claim and 
history would be a shameful exposure. Draw nearer 
to me now, for I feel that you begin to pity me — my 
punishment was greater than I could bear. In my 
slumbers at night the accusing waxen features of the 
dead forever drooped upon the cramped knees, and 
the white teeth grinned forever in a ghoulish smile. 
I awoke with cold sweat on my shivering face, and 
my eager hands trying to undo the fatal bonds — that 
is the curse of a remorseful dream, gentlemen. I am 
ever hurrying now to cut those cords and lift up that 
fainting, drooping head in hope to save a life that 
went out seven years ago. It is the everlasting regret, 
gentlemen, the feeling fostered by a dream that I 
may hurry back to the guard tent and undo the 
cursed thongs that played me false, and then the 
wakening, the dull pain of a fixed and eternal fact — 
perhaps that is my hell already commenced. I was 
no worse than many others. Perhaps some of you who 


132 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


are more brilliant and educated than I, can tell me 
how men are led on to commit crime. I have studied 
so much on the incidents which led up to that fatal 
hour. What is there in man that grows on what it 
feeds upon until man revels in cruelty ? Is there a 
devil, and can he possess men ? You strike a child, a 
weak, helpless child, and it does not resist — it cowers, 
it cries feebly; a spot of blood appears on the little 
face, it angers you, there is something in its helpless- 
ness that accuses you, you strike it down, you crush 
and mangle it, the little features are unrecognizable 
and the fact of the irrevocableness of the act makes 
you a demon and the scene becomes the playground 
of a fiend. Men point to it and say it is wonderful in 
its horror, and it is more wonderful in review to the 
murderer of innocence than to the onlooker. Have we 
still in us the lifeblood of the beasts who were our 
progenitors and steps in the ladder of our elevation, 
and sometimes does the old fever of the jungle and 
the mountain cave break out in our blood ? God 
knows. The face of this gentle Cadogan was a re- 
proach and taunt to me. I hated the gentility of his 
manner. Every tone of his sweet voice was to me the 
cruelest taunt. One look from his pure open eye was 
as sharp in my heart as a sword thrust. What right 
had he, a private soldier, to be my recognized 
superior ? Why should my men obey my harsh com- 
mands with alacrity, but answer his desires with their 
affectionate acquiescence ? When I struck him he 
only looked out of those great pleading baby eyes 
with a look of suffering. When I hurled him to the 
ground he still arose my superior, for he was not 
angry. I could have leaped upon him and torn him 
limb from limb, and every fragment of his gentle 


AA L> IN UNIFORM. 


133 


manhood would have been superior to me and a 
standing reproach. My nature was of that base kind 
which seeks to tear all virtue down to its plane rather 
than to imitate the perfect and climb to its level. 
There is an idea here about the crucifixion of Christ, 
but I am not deep enough to explain it. I did not in- 
tend to kill the man — perhaps it would have come to 
that anyway, though. I had reached that lust of 
cruelty felt by the boatswain who learned to love the 
swish of the lash and the plash of the falling drops of 
blood, or the manager of the guillotine who would 
not lose the privilege of his cursed craft for a king- 
dom. Well, he died, and I became a Pariah on the 
earth. I have repented in sackcloth of memory and 
ashes of blighted hopes. I carry in my darkened 
mind the picture on which I last looked, and never 
until in eternity shall new visions open on my eyes. 
You can say nothing to augment my sorrow, you can 
do nothing to alleviate my pain. I am here because 
his grave is here, and because near here is the spot 
which knew me an honorable man and a soldier. In 
this house also, I understand, he left as a memento 
his knapsack.” 

“ His knapsack ?” echoed the East Indian and the 
Englishman in one voice. 

“Yes; there it hangs upon the wall,” said Mallon. 

“What is in it ?” asked the Englishman. 

“ I have never opened it,” answered the old man. 

“ Never opened it! Why, it may contain the history 
of his life — the revelation of his last wishes,” said the 
excited adept. 

“ I have said it should never be meddled with. I 
have held it as a pledge of my love and fealty to one 
whom I loved as a son, but now that those most in- 


134 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


terested are here, and may never come again, I yield; 
take it down, Lucy,” said Hugh Mallon. 

“ I cannot,” said Lucy, covering her face. 

“ I will, then. I am a practical man of business 
and wish to sift the evidence as to the personality of 
this man,” said the tall lawyer, as he laid away his 
pipe. Reaching up, he disengaged the knapsack from 
its peg, and brushing off the cobwebs of seven years’ 
rest, laid it on the table and opened it. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE KNAPSACK AGAIN. 


HERE is something holy about the trifles which 



once constituted the properties and adornments 
of a personality. Is there a hint of the resurrection 
in the affection which binds the heart to a coarse 
red baby stocking, or the flattened and faded petals 
of a flower now long scentless in its privacy between 
the leaves of a forgotten book ? Nothing inheres in 
it but a memory and the memory only of one or a 
few; then there is no individuality to it only as it 
appeals to some other soul. I suppose the sexton 
tosses as merrily the ashes of the cemetery as he 
would the clay of the meadows; but still, in some far 
country churchyard, may be a little mound which 
even he has adorned with flowers. Impious hands 
opened the tomb of Charlemagne and commented on 
the golden crown that adorned a skeleton and skull, 
but the ones who loved the dust and had held it 
sacred were themselves long with the silent sleepers. 
Perhaps in the morning of the resurrection we shall 


AJ\r£> IN UNIFORM, 


135 


depend upon the affection which shall find us by the 
magnet of love. 

The straps of the knapsack which they eagerly 
loosened had been pulled into place on a May morn- 
ing seven years before. The uniform coat which 
they unfolded and shook out had still depending 
from its pocket the coarse but clean handkerchief of 
the soldier. Its buttons were now green in spots. 
One by one the garments which revealed so clearly 
the pure personality of their owner were lifted out 
and laid reverently on the table. A kingdom, an 
estate, a life is revealed by a soldier’s knapsack. 
Here is the button board and chalk for the polishing 
' of the gilded buttons. Here is the blacking for the 
shoes. Here in a neat case are the thread and needles 
for the repair of garments. Here is the razor, comb 
and brush for the toilet. Here is a portfolio with 
paper, envelopes, pens, stamps and the curious hard 
rubber inkstand, found ready for use. Here is a 
bundle of letters addressed in English but written in 
all languages. Over these the lawyer ponders for a 
time, but he cannot read them. He is startled to find 
that some of them emanated from the courts of kings. 
He studies the monograms, and then looks up to find 
the black, twinkling eyes of the East Indian fixed 
upon him. He nods his head and says : 

“Yes, the Brotherhood has its students everywhere. 
Cadogan knew only men. Kings and peasants, beg- 
gars or councillors were only men to him. He was a 
citizen of the world. Let me see those letters.” 

Humi took them in his hand and picked out a mis- 
sive written on the transparent silken paper of the 
East and pointed to his own signature with a smile. 

“ Look in the portfolio: it is there you will find his 


iSd A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

last writings and if you wish a clue to his identity 
you will doubtless find it there,” said Humi. 

The portfolio was emptied, and in a pocket at one 
side was found a thin book filled with fine writing. 
The portion which was an ordinary diary of passing 
events was written in English, while portions per- 
taining to his occult studies were written in Coptic, 
Hebrew or Latin as the mood seemed to seize him. 
His views on passing events were unique. 

July^ * 6 1 . — The war may seem a clash of interests 
between rival portions of a continent, but in reality 
it is a war of principles. These Southern people by 
slavery were forced into acceptance of an aristocracy 
by the necessity and habit of rule. The Northern 
people were made practical and liberty-loving by an 
enforced equality of toil. The age and tendency of 
ideas will give victory to the principle of well-paid 
and ennobled toil, while the principle of class distinc- 
tions belongs with the tinsel crowns and ivory thrones 
of an effete aristocracy and must go down to dust. 

September^ ’6i. — Whether under the guillotine or 
the spears and scythes of the Kentish bondmen, or 
the grape and canister of Manassas or Big Bethel, I 
perceive that the price of blood must be paid. 

November, ’6i. — As well might the leaven in the 
measure of meal ask if the loaf will be worth the 
heat of the fermentation as for men to ask if the 
colored race be worth the sacrifice. The idea of 
liberty must produce its fruit regardless of cost. 

November, ’6i. — Paine asked me once if I thought 
his expression, afterward used in the Declaration of 
Independence, that all men are “born free and equal,” 
was too comprehensive. I told him it was prophetic, 
and that whatever should be, some time would be. 


AjVL> in uniform. 


137 


Humi looked at me with a smile and said: 

“ You thought him a young man, and he was; but 
he had stood with Paine and watched the tumults in 
Paris.” 

December^ ’61. — A doubt has clung to me all through 
life. It may be that the so-called supernatural phen- 
omena I base my eternal hopes upon are only natural 
laws which more acute minds have utilized. I seem 
to get into a realm above my fellows, but I am as far 
away from God as ever. Query, has the use of steam 
or electricity made us any holier or better ? — and yet 
these things would have been miracles to men of 
old. I must think of this. 

“ Read that again, please,” said Humi, while a look 
of anger made his eyes sparkle. He listened intently 
and then allowed them to go on. 

Januaryy ’62. — I find the highest types of human 
self-sacrifice and patriotism among those of the sim- 
plest faith. The morals of the Nazarene, combined 
with his inspiring hope, have lifted every people 
they have touched, while the secret teachings of the 
adepts have left a world to writhe and sink into 
animalism, while they have revelled in secret in 
dreams of bliss. I must study the Christ more. 

January, ’62. — I have looked upon a coin which this 
people have minted and it has a new motto. In God 
We Trust. Here are millions who dream of the Es- 
sence as a person. Am I wiser than a race who thirst 
for a Father ? 

Humi sat with his weazened face in his hands and 
his elbows resting on his knees. His appearance was 
startling, ghoul-like and terrible. The flickering light 
of the fire seemed to bring changing tints from his 
eyes as light does from diamonds. 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


‘‘Go on,” he said in a low tone. 

“ This next entry in the diary is in a language I do 
not understand,” said the lawyer, handing the book 
to Humi. 

“It is Hebrew,” said Humi, as he scanned the few 
sentences. Then he hissed in a tone of concentrated 
anger: 

“ This master was turning pupil, and weakened for 
a time — that is all. The entry is of no importance. 
It is of an experience understood only by those in the 
inner circle of influence.” 

Then the lawyer took the diary and said: “Perhaps 
we had better only read that which is in English. 
This he must have intended for whoever opened the 
knapsack to read, or he would have concealed it in a 
more difficult tongue.” 

Jtcly^ ’62. — On the long march to Louisville, Ky. 
What a vast country! Here is the stupendous arena 
lapped by oceans and cradled in mountain ranges 
that frame a world, where all ideas that interest man 
shall be fought out. Sifted from the fingers of God, 
here shall be mingled the Hebrew, the follower of 
Confucius, the student of Mahomet, the trustful wor- 
shipper of Christ, and the dry, dull student of science 
with his dust-pan and scales, and here shall be fought 
out the last battle of faith and immortality. A bub- 
ble of truth, a cream of morality, a flower of hope 
shall bloom above this seething mass of thought. Oh, 
that I might live to see this consummation. I will 
think of this. 

September^ ’62. — I have arisen and am writing by the 
fitful glare of the camp fire. I could not sleep on my 
damp bed of mud beside the highway, though I have 
wrapped myself in my blanket before this and slept 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


139 


upon the steppes of Siberia, or covered my face from 
the baleful moon of Egypt and slept beside the pyra- 
mids. What a life! Who that is curious as to won- 
ders of history and reads and reads ^gain the weird 
stories of a prisoner whose silence opened in query 
the mouths of all Europe, would read in this pale 
face the history of an usurped throne ? Shall I ob- 
literate this sentence ? No, let someone know that 
what I may have been is as nothing to what I am now. 
A lover of my kind, an earnest seeker after truth, a 
soldier of principle, a lover of God. I will try to 
sleep again. 

The lawyer looked up to Humi, and he smiled and 
said: 

“You see, you have not found your prot^g^ of the 
poetic and vagrant temperament. I have known who 
Cadogan was for some time. Go on with the diary, 
but skip all until you come to ’63, the year of his 
death.” 

The lawyer turned the leaves until he came to: 

May^ ’63. — I cannot endure this physical suffering. 
I find that my refining process has made me so sus- 
ceptible of pain that I shrink from a blow which to 
ordinary men would be a trifle. To me it is intensest 
agony. I have stilled every human passion until 
anger, lust, envy and hate are words with no meaning 
for me, but I dread bodily pain. 

May^ ’63. — In my eastern studies I learned and 
practiced a secret which shall now be my friend. I 
will give to Campbell, the great, true-hearted com- 
rade, a letter, and in it shall be a formula to be fol- 
lowed. Six months after my decease he shall open 
it. The General shall also have a hint of my inten- 
tion. Let me think this over. 


140 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


May, ’63. — A human love nearly turned me from 
my purpose. It was my last temptation. I shall now 
die. I will leave to Campbell in his letter and in my 
parting words directions as to the disposal of my 
body. A few sweet, pure natures will mourn the 
wanderer’s doom. 

“ What became of this Campbell ?” asked Humi, in 
an excited voice. 

He died at Chickamauga. Sam, a colored man, 
attempted to bring the letter to us, but it was taken 
away and burned,” said Mallon. 

“ And the General he speaks of, where is he ? ” 
screamed Humi. 

Dead also,” said Mallon, solemnly. 

“ Is there another entry in the diary ? ” asked Humi, 
reaching after it with a trembling hand. 

“ Yes,” he screamed, “here it is in Coptic, addressed 
to any Brother. It is the puranayann, it is the Persian 
habs i donieP 

“ What do you mean by that ?” asked Mallon. 

I mean that Cadogan was buried alive^' said Humi, 
in a shriek, “and those who held the secret died and 
he was never taken out and resuscitated.” 

“ Thank God ! I was not a murderer, then,” said a 
fervent voice, and the blind Captain was on his knees 
before the hearth, where the fire burned low, and his 
hands were clasped. The first faint light of day was 
coming in at the east window, and we sat pale and 
thoughtful from our night of watching. At last 
Mallon said, faint and low, 

“ And how long would he live thus ? ” 

“ Who knows? It may be the greatest triumph of 
theosophy the world has ever seen. Here in America 
may be manifested the triumph of our arts. Cadogan 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


141 


was a Fakeer of the highest rank in the East. Bake 
me instantly a cake of wheaten flour! Get me melted 
butter and wine and lamps, and lead me to his tomb. 
See, it is daylight! Hasten! Seven years — alas! I am 
afraid it is too long. This, then, is the reason that 
the Brotherhood heard nothing from his spirit. 
Hasten! let us find his tomb,” said Humi, as he 
dressed himself for contact with the morning air. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


IS HE ALIVE ? 


HE sun was just lighting up the east as we left 



the house and hurried to the grotto. Yellow, 
shrivelled leaves of the autumn time, now damp with 
the dews of night, made a noiseless and beautiful 
carpet beneath our feet. The air had that vital life- 
giving sense in it which we often note in those favored 
temperate zones, every breath we inhale seeming to 
carry a new power to the lungs and a new vigor to 
the limbs, while the chest expands as if filling and 
feeding to repletion on the unseen but invigorating 
food of clean, pure air. On such a morning life be- 
comes a priceless boon, and a new meaning comes into 
the old Mosaic words, “ and he breathed into his nos- 
trils the breath of life and he became a living soul.” 

In the party visiting the tomb was the venerable 
form of Hugh Mallon, and the three strangers fol- 
lowed close behind. I followed behind all the rest, 
with but little interest in the proceedings of the three 
strangers. I had never given much attention to psy- 
chological studies, and the airy and mysterious teach- 


142 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


ings which occupied the attention of pseudo-religion- 
ists I had cast aside as unworthy of notice. Religion 
to me meant only a life bounded and controlled by 
maxims and creeds, which were sufficient to form ex- 
cellent characters in those I had loved, and I inherited 
my religion when I did my name and my modest 
patrimony. I had heard of infidels and skeptics, and 
I never knew one personally, but classed them all to- 
gether as active leaders among the dangerous classes. 
When men spoke of the church I took it for granted 
that they meant the organization known as the Pres- 
byterians. Other religious societies were not 
churches, they were ^‘isms.” I did not know then 
that there was a great seething sea of honest thought 
without bounds and without charts. I floated my 
little argosy of faith on a safe mill pond, where there 
was no room for tidal waves or equinoctial storms. 
Had I been a thinker I might have told this story 
better, but I dare say a stenographer can report a 
speech on the commercial relations of the civilized 
, world when he does not know a protocol from an im- 
post. So I have told the story and shall tell it. I am 
aware that a scene was enacted here in this little 
valley at this grotto which I do not understand. If 
there was trickery or deception I am not deep enough 
to unravel it. If I use the wrong words, it is because 
I am a surveyor and not a linguist. If I fail to de- 
scribe emotions and actions in a graphic manner, it is 
because my profession had caused me to drive grade 
stakes on the profile of a route for a railway rather 
than to map a history of a human tragedy. You will 
understand, then, that the most marvelous events of 
a century should not be discredited because of the 
failure of the narrator, but rather the simplicity of 


AA^n IN UNIFORM. I43 

my story should win your credulity by its rude, blunt 
method. 

I am sure that the iron door of the grotto had not 
been opened for seven years. The key which Mr. 
Mallon produced had been hanging on the wall ever 
since it had been used to close the iron door. The 
lock had rusted into its position against the hasp so 
that the oxidized mass had to be broken with a ham- 
mer. About the floor outside the grated door were 
souvenirs of love in the form of faded and decaying 
wreaths and bouquets, left by loving maidens and 
swains. When the key was applied to the lock it was 
found that the functions of spring and mechanism 
were ruined and that the lock must be broken loose; 
which was done, and the tomb was entered. When 
the door was turned back the morning light shone 
into the little cave and lighted it up with sufficient 
radiance to make everything perceptible. 

On the dais of square stone in the centre of the 
cave were two objects. One had the suggestive form 
which is easily recognizable. In the folds of faded 
cloth we knew reposed all that remained on earth of 
one of our race. 

The other object at its side was huddled up in a 
rude bunch, suggestive of a human form crouched 
together as if sitting with its arms about its knees 
and head reposing on its breast. Mallon spoke in a 
whisper, 

“ The one on the right is Cadogan. The form on 
the left is that of the lady who died, broken-hearted, 
when he died.” 

Humi, the adept, took the lead in all the rest of the 
curious proceedings in the tomb. 

With a gentle hand he opened the cerements of 


144 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


the girl and turned them back. Time and kindly 
nature had done their work. Only the frame of the 
once beautiful form remained. The glorious tresses 
of hair, grown to an enormous length, lay in shiny 
folds on the stone. Humi refolded the shrouding 
cloths and then turned his face to the east, muttered 
some soft gutturals in an unknown tongue and bowed 
three times. Then he eagerly turned to the crouched 
form of Cadogan and rapidly cut the stitches of the 
rough covering. When the coarse woolen blanket 
of the soldier w’as cut loose and cast aside he came to 
the rubber poncho of the infantry. He examined it 
carefully, and when he discovered its material he 
looked up and smiled, and said: 

Good ; it was very wise. It was used to prevent 
evaporation. Think once! — in time he would be des- 
sicated like wood.” 

As if encouraged by this discovery he turned and 
hurriedly tore away the covering of rubber and came 
to a white linen covering saturated with oil. He 
looked up and smiled again, remarking: 

“ It is the puranayann. Had this tomb been opened 
as he expected, Cadogan would have been found 
alive — but seven years! It is beyond our art.” 

At last the shrouding linen was laid aside, and we 
all crowded forward to look upon the face of the 
dead. Mallon took one look and said, with a sigh: 

“ It is not Cadogan!' 

Humi stood with folded arms and sneeringly said: 

“You judge too quickly. You forget that seven 
years have elapsed. You expected to see the youth- 
ful features of the young soldier. I told you that 
our art concealed an art. We arrest the decays of 
life, but in the tomb outraged time and cheated 


AJ\rD IN UNIFORM. 


145 


nature assert themselves again. What do you see ? 
A head of long snow-white hair. A patriarchal beard, 
white as snow. I told you that this man had been 
known to the Brotherhood for seventy years. In his 
diary he hints at events occurring in another cen- 
tury. It is CadoganI 

Humi stepped forward and peered intb the face of 
the dead. It was very strange. There was no decay. 
The flesh was attenuated and shrunken and the eyes 
had receded into the skull, but there was no evidence 
of decay. 

Humi lifted one eyelid and looked long and closely 
at the eyeball. It was without expression and turned 
upward. He touched the flesh of the arm and it re- 
tained the impression like wax. 

“Too late,” he sighed; “but once it would have 
shamed any feat of the greatest Fakeer of the East.” 

Long he gazed at the naked, crouching and statue- 
like form, and then he muttered fiercely to himself 
and drew from his pocket a sharp instrument and 
began cutting off the hair from the top of the head 
of the inanimate man. When he had shaved it smooth 
he put his instrument in his pocket and laid his cheek 
against the head. For a time there was silence at 
this mad and sacrilegious act, but we were about to 
demand that the corpse be again covered and the 
tomb sealed forever when we saw a change taking 
place in the features of Humi. His eyes gleamed 
like diamonds, a smile broke over his dark features 
like sunshine, and he spoke in a tone of joy. 

“Run, bring from the house the warm wheaten 
cake and the melted butter. Bring also the little bag 
of leather I brought with me last night ; bring also 
hot water in abundance.” 


46 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


Then he turned to the cold form of Cadogan, 
and spreading the blankets on the ground took up 
the dead as if he were a child and laid him on the 
blankets. 

When we came back with our loads of articles for 
which we were sent, we found Humi kneeling beside 
Cadogan and chafing his arms rapidly. He took the 
melted butter from my hand, and setting it down at 
his side, took a knife and inserting it between the 
teeth of the corpse pried apart the jaws. Then he 
inserted his finger and drew out the tongue, and 
asked me to hold it. I remember that it was stiff 
and had a tendency to turn back into the throat. I 
had to use some force to retain it in my grasp. Then 
Humi poured the melted butter into the open mouth 
and forced it down the throat. I observed these 
operations with great curiosity and the rest stood 
spellbound. He next took the warm wheaten cake 
and laid it against the bare head. These operations 
complete, he took the warm water and began bathing 
the limbs and seeking to make the joints flexible by 
rubbing and bending them. 

As sure as I am a living man I saw the hue of life begin 
to come into the cold flesh. I turned and peered into 
the face. The eyeballs were enlarging and filling the 
sockets of the eyes. At last the rigid limbs became 
pliable, and the form was straightened out upon the 
blankets. Humi kept muttering in his outlandish 
tongue, and occasionally said in English: 

“Seven years! It is the triumph of the eastern 
philosophy. He will be the king among the Brother- 
hood. Seven years ! Seven years !'" 

At last he laid his cheek upon the breast of Cado- 
gan above the heart and listened long and intently. 


AATD IN UNIFORM, 


47 


Then he arose with a scream of joy, ran to his leathern 
gripsack, and taking a vial from it came and dropped 
a few drops of a crimson liquid into Cadogan’s open 
mouth. In my excitement I may have exaggerated 
some circumstances, but it seemed to me that I heard 
a crackling sound in Cadogan’s frame as of a fire de- 
vouring brushwood. I know, at any rate, that I heard 
a great gasp and that the chest of the dead moved in 
exhalation and then in a great inspiration, and Cado- 
gan began to breathe. 

Hastily Humi commenced to wrap the resurrected 
in his blankets, to generate heat. Hastily he turned 
a few more drops of the melted butter into the open 
mouth, and then he said to us: 

“It is over, and you saw it. You can tell all men 
that the secrets of life are with us. Behold me, I am 
the Mahatma of the inner circle. You have seen what 
the world has longed for, what sages have dreamed 
of. You can swear it is true. See, our brother 
opens his eyes. What is it, my brother? Can you 
speak ?” 

And he leaned over and placed his ear at the. mouth 
of the resurrected. We heard a mumbled sentence, 
and the Mahatma Humi said: 

“ He says I have been long on the road. He was 
weary waiting.” 

“True, my brother, but your comrade died, and your 
letter was never read. The General, your neophyte, 
was assassinated. You did not dream of this. But I 
found your knapsack. I read your words, and I am 
here. It is enough; sleep now, and rise up to tell all 
men the triumph of our cult.” 

Cadogan said in a sepulchral tone: 

“ When I sleep again, it will be my last sleep. Give 


148 


A PHILO SQPHER IN LOVE 


me more of the red celestial cordial in your vial and 
let me speak, for my journey is over. I have much to 




say. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


HE SPEAKS. 


HEN these operations were completed it was 



' ' nearly noon, and the warm sunlight was flood- 
ing the open door of the grotto, and making it light 
within. Lucy Mallon had heard of the incredible 
events of the morning, and had come to look once 
more on the face she had never expected to see again. 
Sam Johnson had entrusted the mail wagon and 
famous mules to a subaltern, and stood, hat in hand, at 
the open door beside Lucy. It was worthy of remark 
that Cadogan saw the face of the colored man and 
made a motion for him to approach. Sam grinned a 
ghastly smile, and said as he backed away: 

“ Dass wa — wa — wat I said. Dis chile ain’ one ob 
dem niggers dat intrudes hisself on de privacy ob a 
gen’leman. Ef you’s got any important message yo’ 
kin sen’ me word on a postal kyard: I runs de mail.” 

Cadogan bared his breast and pointed to the blue 
wound Sam had covered with a bandage seven years 
before. 

“ De maak is all right, Mr. Cadogan, an’ I takes yer 
word, but yo’ bin raisin’ a par ob whiskers dat gits 
me. I spec’ it all come fum dat voodoo bizness. 
Dey ain’ no rabbit’s foot gwine to git away wid Miss 
Myra’s conjurin’ I tell yo’,” said Sam, as he still backed 
away. 

Lucy shuddered as she contemplated the strange 


AArn IN UNIFORM. 


149 


being who had had such a powerful influence on her 
life. With a woman’s rapidity of thought she com- 
prehended that the circumstances which had colored 
her whole life were but an episode in the life of this 
remarkable man whose life spanned an age, and whose 
deductions came from the study of a race and not 
from acquaintance with one or more individuals. A 
smile involuntarily moved her lips as she thought of 
her absorbing love — but this changed to a look of 
reverence as she studied the august features of the 
seer. His wan lips were wreathed in a smile as he 
said in a feeble tone: 

“ My friend, my comrade.” 

He sat propped up on a bundle of the wrappings 
with his face turned to the sunlight, and we all stood 
in front of him. Humi stood immediately in his 
front with folded arms and a studious and puzzled 
look on his dark face. There was something in the 
conduct of Cadogan he did not understand, and yet 
recognizing him as his superior he waited to see what 
course he would take as to his resurrection. 

Cadogan began speaking in a low tremulous tone, 
but as he went on his long unused faculties worked 
more smoothly, and he talked at times rapidly and in 
a loud fierce tone. He said: 

I wish first to say that my apparent death was 
voluntary. Captain Woodson was not responsible for 
my death.” 

A sigh of satisfaction was heard, and the blind 
officer moved up closer to the speaker. He went on: 

‘‘ This submission to death and burial had long been 
contemplated by me as a final step in my studies of a 
lifetime in the occult and mysterious. The terrible 
sufferings, both mental and physical, to which I had 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


150 

been subjected, made me hasten the time of my ex- 
periment in burial and resurrection. By this expedi- 
ent I could escape the torments I dreaded, and end my 
experiences in the military life which had become odi- 
ous to me. I did not contemplate the terrible conse- 
quences to those who loved me and whom I loved in 
return, or I should not have then plunged into the 
vortex of death. I allude to the fair and heroic woman 
who sleeps beside me here.” 

A shudder shook his weak frame, but he resumed: 

“The means I employed to simulate death are 
known to all who have made a study of the curious 
arts of eastern sages. I need not tell of them here. 
It is enough to know that I was successful — in fact, a 
case like mine is unparalleled in history. I attribute 
the vitality which bore me through this test alive to 
my lifelong regimen of abstinence, and a peculiar 
condition of vital functions I had induced by my 
habits. But the statement I wish to make will be 
more incredible than any I have hinted at. But first, 
how long have I lain here ? ” 

“This is the autumn of 1870,” said Mallon in a low 
voice. 

“ Seven years,” said Cadogan. “ Then I have lain 
in a living; grave ^ in a perfectly conscious state ^ seven years f 

A shudder of incredulity went through the little 
group, and they moved a step backward. Cadogan 
said: 

“You are horror-stricken at an evil so vast and ter- 
rible that you can hardly give it lodgement in your 
minds. I, a living man, have here followed in im- 
agination the processes of decay in her I loved here 
at my side. Simulated death consists in a conscious control 
of the faculties — not in insensibility. Schoolboys are 


AN£> IN UNIFORM. 


151 

frightened at a vivid portraiture of a literal hell. 
The capacity man has for suffering lies as far beyond 
the painted flames of hell as space lies beyond our 
little planetary system. I have been a brother to the 
worm and a companion of the vampire bat for seven 
years. Seven springs have come with herald song- 
sters and bursting buds, but they have brought no 
new hopes to me. Summers have waxed and waned 
and men have lounged beneath the shade of trees and 
railed at the slow flight of odorous, free and happy 
hours, and I have lain a frozen, conscious sufferer 
through seven such summers, each an age in length. 
Autumn has come and the yellow leaves have sifted 
down on my couch, and low wailing winds have told 
me of another summer gone. In imagination I have 
stood in harvest fields and toiled until I fainted, and 
I sang paeans of joy for the privilege of toiling in the 
sunlight I thought I should never see again. Win- 
ter wailed about my cave, and I thought of warm fire- 
sides and human companionship and friendly greet- 
ings, and good nights spoken at chamber doors and 
shouted hails of neighbors in the frosty morning air. 
Listen. I prayed for a real death as men pray for 
choicest gifts of Heaven. I longed for unconscious- 
ness as dying travellers on Sahara dream of brooks 
with white pebbles and gleaming minnows. Then I 
heard steps ring on the stone portal, and I tried to 
break the icy sleep and call out, but I was in an eter- 
nity of nightmare, a hell of silence, a cycle of weary, 
delirious dreams.” 

He gasped and fell back upon his couch. The 
Mahatma sprung to his side and dropped into the open 
mouth of Cadogan a tiny crimson stream from the vial 
in his hand, and he resumed in a lower tone of voice. 


152 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


“ I must hasten, and I must put in as few and as 
plain words as possible the message I wish you to 
hear. I have told you the motives for my burial and 
my strange experience in the tomb. I will tell you 
now of my life and its failure.” 

“ Failure ?” repeated the Mahatma, with a sneer. 

“ Yes, failure,” answered Cadogan. “I am speak- 
ing as in the presence of God, and I am now on the 
threshold of eternity. Of my birth and lineage I 
dare not speak; I am under an oath. Of my age I 
need only say 1 have lived through three dynasties in 
Europe, and have seen three republics born. That is 
as near to the date of my birth as I dare to come in 
justice to others. My life has been unique in that I 
have sought to pierce the clouds that encircle the 
throne of Deity. I wished to get into the white light 
of eternity while still on earth. My plan was to pro- 
long life until I had studied and become proficient in 
all the religions of earth. Then from the mass I 
would evolve the secret of God. Was it a strange 
idea ? behold my end. My life was sacrificed to this 
idea. I saw men basking in the smiles of women and 
their natures unfolding in the warmth of love. To 
me it was only the spur which nature had put upon 
the heel of pleasure to drive us to the procreation of 
a race. I saw babes fondled on the lap of maternity 
or dandled on the knee of paternity, and my morbid 
nature saw no more in it than the leapings of cubs 
about their dam. In fact I dared let no inferior 
affection draw me from a contemplation of my prob- 
lem. Fool, I had left the feast, to starve in a contempla- 
tion of a mirage. I was a madman, doing a vast 
business with pebbles for coin, while shrewder men 
took the world’s wealth and bloomed arid enjoyed as 


AAT.n IN UNIFORM. 


153 


naturally as flowers. From the hint of a God in the 
hewed timber with eyes of red clay, up to the echoing 
aisles of a cathedral with its pictured faces, I was 
after the inner secret of man’s immortality. From the 
raving, ignorant spiritist giving scandal to the inhab- 
itants of another sphere by calling his inane babblings 
their messages, to the theosophist with his hints of 
an upper realm and secret force, I sought and pon- 
dered their words, and I weighed carefully every idea 
presented. 

“ I peered into the cell of the monastic recluse and 
listened to his scourge and prayer. Long years I 
sat at the feet of the occult student and found every 
word that had a meaning in the transmitted knowl- 
edge of the ages. My life has been a failure.” 

“ A failure ? ” again hissed Humi. 

^‘Yes, a failure,” said Cadogan. “I was only a 
greater fool because more persistent and better 
equipped. What has been the curse of man — is it not 
the search for the supernatural ? What has built 
martyr fires and furnished fagots for the burning 
of witches ? What has made the miracle the weapon 
of the church and the excuse for tyranny ? What in 
modern times has been the recruiting station of the 
insane asylum but this cursed longing for something 
incomprehensible ? The spiritists — the cures by faith, 
the healer by Christian science. There is nothing 
supernatural^ 7ior ever was.'' 

The Mahatma stooped and peered into Cadogan’s 
face, and then muttered a warning in a strange 
language. Cadogan said: 

“ Do not fear — I remember my oath; but I must tell 
my message more hastily. I am growing weak again. 
What is supernatural ? Something we do not 7iow 


154 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


comprehend. Here is a mist all over the valley. You 
are strangers here but I am at home. As we stand 
amid the mist, I say, yonder is a mountain, over 
there is a forest, and just beyond rolls a river. 

‘‘ You wait and watch and soon the mist rises and 
you see the mountain I describe, and the forest and 
the river. Was there a miracle there ? No, but I 
had seen them and you had not until the mist arose. 
The miracle of to-day becomes the toy of the school 
boy to-morrow. What the Indian feared as God be- 
comes the lighter of lamps and the ringer of bells for 
man a few years later. To Franklin a discovery, to 
us a useful force. What is the miracle ? Something 
above natural laws. Then in that sense there is no 
miracle nor ever was, for nothing can be above natu- 
ral laws. God is natural law; what can be above God? 
I have been a theosophist. You ask me of my own mys- 
terious acts. Well, the theosophist uses more of the 
laws of nature than another man, that is all. See, in 
one age the natives of an island eat the fruit of a 
tree. The white man comes and finds a fortune in 
the wood of the tree a few years later, and another 
finds fibre for paper in its leaves, and so God’s laws 
are revealed.” 

“ Where then, is truth ?” asked Hugh Mallon. 

Cadogan bowed his head and said: 

“ In the Son of God — in the Son of Mary. In Him 
was the life and the life was the light of men. He was the 
true light! 

•‘Traitor — Coward!” screamed the Mahatma, point- 
ing his finger. 

“Wait,” said Cadogan, raising his hand. “What 
we call miracle and what may have occurred in the 
life of the Nazarene was what perfected man may yet 


AJVD IN UNIFORM. 


155 


do. Abide in him. Study that morality which was 
the life force of the religion of Christ. Love and be 
loved; gather children like olive plants at your table, 
and let no ignis fatuus draw you into the pursuit of 
dreams and visions. Oh, wasted life, I leave thee 
behind. I pierce the future only with a thought. I 
am a planet erratic in its course, scorning the orbit 
where it might have swung through its little circle in 
freedom, joy and light, and plunging in its ambitious 
flight into the absorbing furnace fires of its central 
sun, and being quenched forever. Wait; I will tear 
aside the gaudy curtains which bedeck the shrine of 
our mystic craft and show you the living lie of our 
priesthood. Theosophy is also a fraud, and I will 
tell you ere I die its most precious secret.” 

His voice was a scream; his long meagre arm 
was lifted in denunciation, and his bird-like talons 
clutched at the air : his face working in the madness 
of a thwarted and deceived search and the disgust of 
an exposed fraud. 

The Mahatma knelt down, and in a serpentine crawl 
approached his couch. 

“ Master !” he cried, “be silent.” 

“ I will not, Humi,” cried Cadogan. “I see behind 
me the wasted years, the nights of study, the weari- 
ness of deprivation, and the world shall know that 
the simple faith of the child which the Nazarene set 
in their midst brings more peace than all the wisdom 
of men. Leave me, Humi.” 

“ The Master is weary,” said the dark Mahatma, 
and he put his hand upon his breast and pressed him 
back upon his couch. The great soul then left the 
frail body in reality. A gasp heaved the breast twice, 
the limbs quivered, the hands crossed the breast and 


A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 


156 


Cadogan was dead. In a moment after he had ceased 
to breathe every indication of decay had commenced. 
It was horrible. We looked up and the East Indian 
was gone. We ran to the door of the grotto and could 
see no one in any direction resembling him. We came 
back and stood in a group looking down upon the 
dead. A single spot of blood upon the white shroud 
attracted the attention of the English lawyer. He 
stooped over and looked more closely at the breast 
of Cadogan. He turned back the shroud and saw 
something gleaming on the left breast. With a gentle 
touch he drew out a long needle of gold which had, 
with a firm strong hand, been driven through Cado- 
gan’s heart. He never told the secrets of his occult 
school, and the Mahatma Humi, search as we would, 
was never seen again in America. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


END. 



HIS is a beautiful world.” I was speaking to 


^ Lucy Mallon, who stood at my side in the open 
door of the farmhouse. It was a late autumn day, 
when all the beauty of expiring summer seemed to 
be compressed into one royal day of beauty before 
its abdication and the coronation of winter. Such a 
day is like a parting kiss of young love. All the 
meaning of a hundred caresses is manifested in this 
last embrace. A white mist was rising from the 
Harpeth river and curtaining the edge of the forest 
below us. The shrill call of the blue jay came with 
a sort of disturbing mockery on the beautiful scene. 


AND IN UNIFORM. 


157 


Down on the smooth white pike the heavy-laden 
wagons made a musical echo against the woods. 
From the cornfield on the hillside came the sweet, 
mellow baritone of a negro at his morning toil. 

“ This is a beautiful world,” I said. 

“Yes,” said Lucy, pressing more closely to my side 
and looking up in my face; “and I have been reading 
the books Cadogan gave me. One of them, written 
by an English sage, has something to say about 
man’s happiness depending on his adjustment to his 
environment. Does it not seem to you, dear, that man, 
in his eager search for hidden knowledge, gets away 
from his environment, and instead of hanging like a 
star, supported by mutual attractions, plunges into 
darkness and despair? Hence the insanity, the sui- 
cide, the terror and stress of modern life.” 

“You are right, darling,” I said. “Would to God 
we might, as a race, measure our capabilities and 
curb our desires so as to live as simply and sweetly 
as the antediluvians of whom we read. Tents and 
flocks and morning and evening prayers and simple 
food and long life.” 

“I think I understand you,” said Lucy. “I have 
brooded over the dark sayings and subtle reasonings 
of Cadogan until life became a curse instead of a 
blessing; but I am a real woman, I find, and in your 
love and care' I find the present so happy that I shall 
not search the future for its meaning,” and her arms 
encircled me in a loving embrace. 

“And I shall be satisfied with my environment 
while wrapped in your arms,” and I bent and kissed 
the full, red lips and pressed the rare, womanly form 
to my breast. 

“ If you are going to the station in the conveyance 


158 A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE 

of Sam Johnson you will have to hurry and get on 
your wraps,” said the cheery voice of old Hugh Mal- 
lon behind us. 

Sure enough, Sam was turning into the yard from 
the pike. Sam was getting very fat, and stories had 
been told of his sleeping on the seat of his wagon and 
the mules arriving at the station, turning up to the 
platform and then backing the wagon up against the 
steps with such force as to hurl the sleeping driver 
off his seat backward, to the intense amusement of the 
boys and passengers. 

“Good morning, Sam,” I said. “We are off for a 
trip to the North and then we shall settle down here 
in old Tennessee. No one could take us to the depot 
but you, Sam.” 

“ Much ’bleeged, boss, an’ I wish yo’ much joy an’ a 
long life an’ a large fambly; but yo’ tell Miss Lucy 
to hurry up er de post office will be late.” 

“Here she comes,” and radiant in her imposing 
beauty and dressed for an introduction to my North- 
ern friends, the pure, sweet lily I have plucked in the 
South comes forth. A kiss for old Mr. Mallon, who 
stands leaning on his staff, and then she touches her 
cheek with her handkerchief to dry a falling tear. A 
spring into the waiting wagon and we are off. 

Only for a time, though. I have bought an inter- 
est in some of the great factories now rearing in 
Nashville of the ne.w South. I have a home in the 
new Nashville, with its clanging bells and roaring 
steam and screaming trains. I shall soon be back in 
the centre of these new interests and Lucy will have 
a home for her father. 

“Stop at the cave, Sam,” 

Sam nodded his head affirmatively and we pulled 


AND IN UNIFORM, 


159 


out into the road. I wished to keep up the conversa- 
tion, and said: 

“ Sam, are you trying to get a pension or bounty ? I 
see that a new law entitles the colored troops to come 
in for equal honors and emoluments.” 

‘‘Wat’s dat lass word you said, boss?” 

“ Emoluments, perquisites, rights,” I said. 

“ Now you’s a shoutin’, boss, I got ’um, all ob dem 
'moluments, I’s de free’st nigger yo’ ebber seed.” 

“ But, Sam, if you were wounded or injured in the 
war you can also get a pension.” 

Sam reached out and flicked the off mule so that 
his attention was secured for several minutes, as was 
evinced by his active tail and expressive ears ; then 
Sam said in a thoughtful tone : 

“ Dat’s whar I made a turble mistake.” 

“ What do you mean, what mistake, Sam ?” 

“I done forgot to be swored into de army.” 

“ Forgot to be sworn in!” I repeated. 

“Dass wat I said; I jess hung aroun’ like a wart on 
a gum tree, un fout un fout fur de Union an’ save de 
declaration ob de Nunited States an’ fo’got to swar 
in.” 

I saw instantly the ridiculous fact that Sam had 
never been in the army, except as a camp follower, and 
was occuping his enviable position of hero among his 
followers only on sufferance. 

“ Heah we is at de cave, sah.” 

Preparations are being made for sealing it forever. 
Workmen are walling up the door. An iron plate 
containing the names of the occupants is to be em- 
bedded in the stone. But first we are to consign to 
the tomb all that links our lives to the past. We lift 
a package from the wagon and look silently upon it. 


i6o A PHILOSOPHER IN LOVE. 

Lucy’s eyes have in them a mist, but mine are clear; 
I feel that a dark mysterious influence is now to be 
taken out of the life of one I love. It is a knapsack 
we are to place in the tomb beside the form of him 
who bore it. The weary feet are still now, and the 
pain and turmoil no longer mar the face of him who 
wondered so long at the mystery of life. The gentle 
heart, broken with the woes of men, no longer throbs at 
the woes of life. In the life he now lives he has found 
the secret earth could not reveal. Was he wise in his 
search ? God knows. Was it heroic to shun all earth’s 
allurements in the search of spiritual truths? God 
knoweth. I lay the knapsack at his side while the 
workmen stand with bared and bowed heads. So 
shall all our burdens sometime lie beside us, unno- 
ticed, perishing as our bodies. The outer sunlight 
WOOS us. We remember the pleasures God has spread 
for us. We spring into our seats and turn to the reali- 
ties of life, leaving the dreams and reveries, the mad- 
ness and delirium in the shadow of the grave where 
we leave Cadogan’s knapsack. 


r 


THE END. 



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“Napoleon Smith,” a novel by a well-known New Yorker, is published by 
the Judge publishing company. Its first edition of 50,000, which is unparalleled 
in the publishing trade, is fully warranted by the plot of the story. The author 
has made quite as much of a hit in popular interest as Rider Haggard ever has 
done, and there is no one who reads it who will not be so entertained as to ask 
all his friends to read it. It is remarkably well conceived and is handled with 
skill . — Boston Globe. 

“ STAR-CROSSED : The Life and Love of 
an Actress.” 

By an Actress. Price, 50 cents. 

A remarkably interesting story. Intensely original in style and full of 
startling incident. ^ The author is a well-known actress of the American stage, 
and has written the book in a charmingly refreshing, vigorous and entertaining 
manner. 


“ LADY CAR : The Sequel of a Life.” 

By Mrs. Oliphant. Price, 25 cents. 

The latest story from the pen of this entertaining writer. The only author- 
ized American edition. 


“JACK OF HEARTS : A Story of Bohemia.” 

By H. T. Johnson. Price, 25 cents. 

A delightful romance of English life. 


All ihe above books are to be obtained of booksellers and newsdealers, 
or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price by 

THE JUDGE PUBLISHING CO., 

Judge Building, cor. Fifth Ave. and 16th St., ' 

NEW YORK. 










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